


encompass

by qar



Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Child Abandonment, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, MCYT Advent Calendar Prompts 2020, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Secret Santa, Sibling Bonding, and uh, day 8 is just . cute. that's it!, just. mentioned very little, oh and, there’s my tag :), tommy and dream team being cute friends . thats it. thats day 6, tommy and the rest of the sbi being a cute as family. thats it. thats literally it., tubbo and tommy being cute friends. thats it. thats day 7
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 24,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qar/pseuds/qar
Summary: Last year had been the best Christmas Tommy had ever had, but the bar had always been pretty low; the moments between the whirlwind of being adopted had been the happiest of Tommy's life. It's been a year, though, and he's adjusted well; this Christmas will be even better.A series of connected oneshots for amooniesong's MCYT Advent Calendar Prompt List!Day 21: Turkey---Disclaimer:If any of the creators mention they are uncomfortable with these types of fics I will take this down.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Darryl Noveschosch & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, GeorgeNotFound & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Zak Ahmed & TommyInnit
Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961299
Comments: 541
Kudos: 2197
Collections: MCYT Advent Calendar Prompts 2020





	1. Day 1: Christmas Market

**Author's Note:**

> i don't celebrate christmas, so this has been a learning experience!! please correct me if i've gotten anything wrong :)

This isn’t the first Christmas Tommy’s spent with his adoptive family- he’d been adopted in December, last year, and Phil’d decided that the fact called for a quiet night in, for fear that Tommy and Techno would get overwhelmed. It hadn’t stopped it from being the _best_ Christmas of his life; the cozy atmosphere in Phil’s house in the days leading up to the 25th was so, _so_ much better than the fighting, or the orphans arguing, that Tommy was used to. And there were _so_ many presents.

Tommy hadn’t bought any presents, that year; too busy in the adoption process, which was long, and lengthy and exhausting, and by the time it was _over_ Tommy’d forgotten entirely about gifts.

The holiday’d never been one he looked forward to, anyway. Back in the good old days, he’d dreaded it; it was a holiday full of fighting, and anger, and watching his friends receive gifts as he received bruises. And once he’d been abandoned, left at the orphanage, it was just… incredibly depressing. Watching fifty orphans scramble for badly made mashed potatoes and donations had been okay; it had been better than nothing, for sure, but now that he was _here_ , Tommy realises he’d never had what a normal family Christmas was _supposed_ to be.

They’re going to the Christmas market down the road, today, and Phil’s sent him upstairs to grab his coat and gloves and everything warm, ever. He looks around his room. It’s been a year, already, and Tommy’s slowly gotten over his fear of the rug being ripped out from under him. His bedroom is fully _his_ , and the piano Phil’d surprised him with last Christmas is pressed against the wall, leaving scrapes and other permanent things. Everything’s _his,_ and Tommy takes a minute to bask in the fact as he pulls on his puffer jacket.

His oldest brother, Wilbur, is waiting for him outside when Tommy emerges. His guitar is strapped over his chest- he isn’t going to play it, Tommy knows, but it’s for the _aesthetic_ \- and he’s wearing a long, brown coat, and his face is flushed red, presumably from being outside. “It’s fucking cold today, Tommy,” Wilbur says, eyes bright. “You’d better not freeze to death. I have people to meet.”

Wilbur’s twenty, now, and he’s _awesome_ , even if Tommy’ll never say it to his face. He plays the guitar, and his friends are really fucking cool- especially Schlatt, who’s funny and dry and everything Tommy wants to be. Wilbur had been the first one he trusted, and he’s still the first person Tommy goes to when he has an issue.

Currently, his issue is that they aren’t out of the door, so he grabs Wilbur’s hand tightly and tugs him towards the stairs. “C'mon, bitch,” Tommy mumbles. “I wanna go to the market.”

Tommy can feel Wilbur grin through his “Don’t swear,” behind him, and how the man lets himself be led, gracelessly, down the stairs, and also how he sharply tugs on Tommy’s coat when the twelve-year-old almost trips over himself in his haste. Techno and Phil are in the kitchen, and the pink-haired middle child is slumped over the counter, almost entirely asleep. Phil’d speedrun the art of pancakes earlier today, and now he’s on the counter next to Techno, wearing a long, grey coat. He smiles when he sees the boys approaching, and reaches out to gently shake Techno awake. “Took you long enough,” he grins. “It’ll be January by the time we reach.”

“We didn’t take _that_ long,” Tommy replies, bright. “You’re just old.”

“I am _not_ old,” Phil replies, running a hand through Techno’s hair as the teenager blearily looks around. “You ready to go, Tech?”

Techno’s seventeen, and Tommy will admit it openly- he is _so_ fucking cool. He is _terrifying_ , and he fences and plays Minecraft incredibly and plays _violin_ , the worst instrument- he is _so_ fucking cool. Tommy feels really, really lucky that he gets to Techno’s goofy, tired side; otherwise he’d be _so_ scared of the man. Right now, though, when Techno’s faded pink hair looks like it’s been shocked, and he’s half asleep, swallowed by his red jacket, and he just looks vulnerable- Tommy’s so lucky. 

Techno gets up, slowly, and Phil stands and makes his way over to Tommy to make sure he’ll be warm enough, tugging on his coat so it fits right. Phil’s like his _dad_ , and while Tommy’s been too nervous to call him that- he’s definitely come to see him as one, over the two years he’s spent in the man’s house. They’re- they’re like family. They _are_ family.

The walk to the market is fairly short; it’s, as Wilbur’d mentioned, _freezing,_ and while it isn’t snowing, there’s a light drizzle that’s somewhere between water and icy mush. The ground is slippery, and Phil and Wilbur’ve just taken to keeping their hands very close to Techno and Tommy’s jackets, because one of them is still half asleep and the other is lanky and clumsy. Tommy only slips several times. Wilbur yanks him up every time, and by the fifth time he gives up and just wraps his arm around the kid. Tommy appreciates it, because first off, he’s cold as balls, and second- he doesn’t want to get bruises on Christmas again.

The market is crowded, and Phil’s immediately drawn to the stall full of little baubles, and Wilbur sees his friends and exclaims, moving towards them with Tommy still in tow, and Techno sees Skeppy by the bauble stand and heads there, and Tommy clutches the money that Phil’s given him and lets himself be dragged.

Schlatt is there, and Tommy shies away, nervously, slipping out of Wilbur’s grasp as he sees Tubbo, who’s carefully carrying a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate away from a stall. Tubbo’s eyes meet his, and they widen, and the hot chocolate is shoved into Eret’s hands as Tommy runs to hug his best friend. He can feel Wilbur watching him, fondly, in deep conversation with Niki and Schlatt; and Phil’s just bought a little heart-shaped bauble, and is heading towards Wilbur, and Wilbur doesn’t seem to mind because Phil’s like a cool older brother- Tommy’s decided family trees are confusing. Techno’s laughing at something Skeppy’s said, and the younger boy’s presented him with a flimsy yellow crown you’d get from a cracker, which Techno accepts gracefully. The rain has turned into soft flakes of snow, not heavy enough to be worrying; and the sky is getting dark, despite it being 5pm. Everywhere Tommy looks is painted with fairy lights and the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg. Tommy fists his hand into Tubbo’s sweater, and pulls him towards a stall that’s caught his eye. He has to buy Wilbur and Phil and Techno presents, for being the best family he’s ever had, and maybe he’ll slip away from Tubbo and buy one for his best friend as well. It’s nice, being surrounded by family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! these are probably going to be relatively short and sweet :) leave kudos, comments and bookmarks if you wanna, and subscribe if you want notifications!! stay safe <3  
> my discord, the writer's block (copy paste into a browser):  
> https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm  
> 


	2. Day 2: Candy Canes

“I’m going to dropkick a child,” Techno threatens, a grin spread across his face as he brandishes the candy cane like it’s a weapon. He has perfect form, but his candy cane’s still wrapped in it’s clear packaging. Tommy has the clear tactical advantage; his candy cane’s sharpened to a point from where he’s been sucking it for the past hour, and it’ll definitely leave a scratch or two. “I’m going to kick your ass.”

“You do seem to like dropkicking orphans,” Tommy quips, slowly circling back towards the kitchen island, ignoring Wilbur’s choked laugh from where the older boy is draped in the living area. Techno flushes at the reference of his Youtube channel, and Tommy slides further away from him, candy cane still held out. “Techno, step away.”

“Never,” Techno replies, slowly moving closer. They’re on opposite ends of the island, now, and Tommy’s eyes dart around, looking for a way to get away without getting smacked senseless with a candy cane.

“Techno, I’m going to jab you in the eye,” Tommy threatens again, brushing light hair out of his view. “Back. Away.”

“Blood for the blood god,” Techno says, and they stare at each other, blue eyes meeting. Then Techno darts to the left, and Tommy scrambles, socked feet sliding on the wooden floor as he makes for the couch where Wilbur’s scrolling on his laptop. Techno’s on his heels immediately, red blanket flying behind him, somewhat reminiscent of his Minecraft character. He slides to a stop as Tommy dives onto Wilbur’s prone form, and his oldest brother tosses his laptop to the side and wraps his arms around him. “This isn’t fair- you can’t have a meat shield!”

“Watch me!” Tommy cackles, voice muffled by Wilbur’s chest. “Wil- Wilbur, roll _over_.”

“Sure,” Wilbur says, following suit so that Tommy’s crushed under him, the child curling up so he isn’t visible to Techno. “This is definitely cheating.”

“Up a bit, Wil, I can’t breathe,” Tommy says, arms wrapped around Wilbur’s torso. Wilbur complies. “This is a lawless land, Wilbur, there are no rules. It’s kill or be killed.”

“This is bullying,” Techno deadpans, and Tommy lets out an _oof_ as Wilbur’s body drops down on him. Judging by Wilbur’s own _oof_ , Techno’s thrown himself onto their little huddle. Indeed, a moment later, Wilbur shifts over to the side and pushes a body over Tommy so he’s in between two- Techno’s faded pink hair is on his right, and Wilbur’s dark hair falls into Tommy’s face from the left. He giggles, involuntarily, as Techno wriggles over farther so he isn’t on Tommy. Wilbur sighs and wraps his arm around Techno as well.

“I was having a peaceful day,” he complains, reaching over with a large hand to ruffle Tommy’s hair. “And you two just start stabbing each other with candy canes.”

“I wasn’t _actually_ going to stab him,” Techno drags. “Just- a little bit of maiming.”

“Friendly maiming,” Tommy agrees, shifting his hand inconspicuously. “Family things.”

Tommy can feel Wilbur’s face light up from behind him when he says _family_ , and he takes the moment to rip the sticky candy cane from where he’s been hiding it and drive it towards Techno- flat first, he didn’t actually want to stab him.

Techno grins, feral, and meets it with his own candy cane. “You think I didn’t see you shifting, you brat?” 

The candy canes meet, and- break in a spectacular explosion of sugar, splinters of red and white splintering over all their clothes, and Wilbur sighs loudly, arms tightening around Tommy’s waist as he turns, hauling the boy onto his chest and depositing him on the other end of the sofa. “Jesus.”

Techno’s looking down at his blanket in horror, icy blue eyes wide. “I’m going to have to- it’s going to be so fucking sticky.”

Wilbur rolls off the sofa, picking up his laptop as he lands on his feet. “I’m going to go change,” he calls, as Tommy and Techno watch him make his way to the staircase. “Have fun cleaning this up.”

The two younger siblings turn to look at each other, slowly; the sofa is covered with sugar and shards of candy cane, and Techno’s blanket is balled up in his hands. Tommy slowly, slowly inches up, and watches Techno do the same. 

“First person-” Techno starts, and Tommy shoots up and belts for the island, grabbing all the candy canes that had been laying on the counter.

“You’re cleaning this up,” Tommy says, holding the fistful of candy canes out, eyes narrowed. Techno’s staring at him, mouth open. 

“You _brat,_ ” Techno says, dumbfounded, before vaulting over the sofa clumsily and tackling Tommy- gently, Tommy notices- and grabbing the candy canes, hands pinning the twelve-year-old down as he drops on the floor next to him, both laughing. “That’s _so_ cheating.”

“No it isn’t!” Tommy giggles, kneeing Techno, who doubles into himself, chuckling. “I have the candy canes _and_ the power. Stay down.”

“Looks like I have both,” Techno grins, holding up a fist. He- he has the fucking candy canes. Tommy breaks into laughter, curling into himself as he shakes. It’s eerily familiar to the Christmases he’s had before- but this is… entirely good, compared. He hadn’t been laughing then.

Techno stays upright and watches, eyes crinkled, at the boy in hysterics next to him. Tommy’s entirely breathless, face flushed, when Phil makes his way down the stairs, fully clad in sleeping clothes. 

“You’re both cleaning it up!” Phil calls from the living area. Tommy gasps for air, and Techno stands gracefully, depositing the candy into a bowl before reaching a hand out to the kid. Tommy grasps it, and Techno pulls him up in one swift motion. 

“C’mon,” he says to the youngest, gently tugging the collar of his nightshirt. “We should clean it before the couch gets sticky.”

Tommy crinkles his nose. “Like my hands.” He clutches onto Techno’s hand tighter, laughing brightly when the middle child tries to pull away with a horrified expression. “No, you aren’t getting away from me that easily, asshole.”

“Language,” Phil says absently.

Tommy refuses to let go of his hand, grinning mischievously, and Techno resigns himself to scrubbing his hand clean later; but for now, he and Tommy are dusting crumbs of sugar off the sofa and into a dustpan, hands intertwined. Tommy gestures for him to get closer, and Techno complies. 

“I was wrong, earlier,” Tommy says. His face is getting red. “I- I’m not- don’t tell Phil I said this.”

“I won’t,” Techno promises, leaning in closer. 

“I-I can’t make the orphan jokes anymore! I have- I have Phil now!” The boy beams at him nervously, and Techno’s heart melts. He tugs on their hands that have been basically glued together, and Tommy lets out a screech as he tumbles into a hug.

“You’re my favorite little brother,” he mumbles to the kid in his arms, chin resting on blond hair. 

“I’m your _only_ little brother,” Tommy complains, but Techno can feel him smiling against his chest, and Phil watching from the other sofa. 

“And my favorite,” Techno replies, letting Tommy curl into him, both swaying absently. They’ll stay here for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this soft enough. becaus easlkdjqa


	3. Day 3: Snow

Tommy’s memories of snow have almost always been bittersweet.

He’s laying in it, now; the aftermath of a snowstorm had been many, many inches of snow, and he and Phil and Wilbur and Techno had gone out for the day, the older two siblings intent on either destroying each other with snowballs or making a massive snowman. They’re on the snowman, right now; they’ve rolled a ball that’s barely two feet tall, and had gotten distracted halfway through. Tommy watches Wilbur punt Techno into the snow, both boys laughing loudly. 

Tommy, himself, is under a tree with his adoptive father. They’re both laying back, and Tommy’s curled into the crook of Phil’s arm, blue eyes seeming almost white with the reflections of snow. Phil’s carding a hand through his hair, and it’s like they’re in their own little bubble; Techno and Wilbur’s screams feel far away, and all Tommy can hear is Phil’s breathing and the slow  _ bump-bump-bump  _ of his heart in his ears.

Phil’s hand scratches at his scalp, gently, and Tommy tucks himself closer to the older man. He’s cold, and his shirt is slightly wet under his many, many layers; but somehow, despite how he’s shivering, something warm spreads under his skin.

Laying in the snow. He used to do it often, with less layers and wetter shirts. Snow was always a relief to see; whoever was taking care of him- be it his ex-parents, foster parents or matrons from the orphanages- never particularly cared if he went out in the snow; usually, they’d shove a flimsy coat on him and send him on his merry way with a promise to not die, they’d have to face child neglect charges. 

And the snow- it was a moment of relief through all those years, where the cool, icy mush would press against his bruises and scrapes and cuts and numb them. It didn’t discriminate- the injuries could be from guardians, or kids at school, or just accidents; but it’d numb them all the same, and Tommy’d lay in the snow for as long as he could without getting in trouble.

And snow is bittersweet, now, he decides. It’d been a constant friend in his twelve years of existing, and despite his aversion to the cold he still loves it; but he’s here, now, with a family he loves and trusts, and all he can think is  _ where are the bruises, why isn’t it stinging, why aren’t I numb yet- _

And he has so much better to focus on, now, rather than bruises long gone, or how his jacket’s actually keeping him warm. Phil’s hand has shifted in his hair, and it’s drawing absentminded circles in his scalp. Techno shrieks as Wilbur pulls him into a hug, the older boy staring at his phone as the pink haired teenager struggles half-heartedly. Phil’s coat makes a loud sound as it shifts against the snow and Tommy’s jacket. Phil’s hands are warm. Techno and Wilbur’s sad attempt at a snowman cracks and slowly crumbles. Both older siblings let out similar cries of rage and vengeance.

Last year had been better than the years before that; he’d gotten adopted, around this time, and it’d snowed when they’d come back from the office. He’d still had bruises, though, faded red against his skin. This year, there’s nothing. There’s him, half laying on Phil, and there’s his older siblings fighting a ways away from them. No bruises, no pain, no stinging when snow hit tender skin; just him and family and snowballs and broken snowmen.

He probably can’t physically get any closer to Phil, but he tries anyway. Phil shifts so they’re both comfortable. Tommy’s blond hair spreads over his arm.

“Phil,” he says, quietly, half hoping the man doesn’t hear him. He does, though, and hums.

“What’s up, Tommy?” he asks, eyes following Techno, who scoops up and dumps the entire mutilated snowman onto the oldest son. Tommy giggles.

“Do you like snow?” Tommy questions, wriggling out of Phil’s grasp so he can see the older man’s face. Phil’s face scrunches in contemplation.

“Alone, not much,” he replies. “Have you ever driven in a snowstorm? It’s terrifying.”

Tommy shakes his head, and Phil smiles at him fondly. “Snowstorms are terrible. But after a snowstorm- like right now, when I’m with my family, I like snow a lot better.”

“Is it because of the people?” Tommy asks. Phil shrugs.

“People, yeah. And the memories we’re making.” Tommy freezes a bit, and Phil seems to notice. “You have bad memories with snow?”

Tommy’s face crinkles with thought. “Not really,” he admits. “I used to use snow to numb bruises when I was with my parents and in orphanages. So I kinda like it.”

Phil’s distress shines through his face, and Tommy almost regrets informing him of this. Plenty of people had told him it wasn’t safe to put snow on sensitive flesh, okay-

Phil sits up, slowly, and pulls Tommy gently into a hug “That’s horrible, mate,” he says. Tommy shrugs.

“Wasn’t that bad,” Tommy says. “I just hate thinking about bruises when I could be having a nice day. So I guess they’re bad memories.”

“Best thing about memories is that you can replace them,” Phil says, pulling himself up and pulling the kid’s hand. Tommy’s yanked up carefully and easily, and Phil brushes snow off of his back and his hair. “Wanna go make that massive snowman?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Tommy says, grin spreading over his face as Techno straddles Wilbur at the corner of his eye, shoving snow down the eldest sibling’s shirt.

He isn’t bruised and battered, for once, and he’s going to make the most of it. Move on from the bad.


	4. Day 4: Wreaths

Wilbur’s decided to actually put effort into making a wreath for the door this year, Tommy’s decided that this is a cringe moment and Techno’s decided that he’s going to watch this shit go down.

Hot glue near any of them is already a terrible idea to begin with; Wilbur hasn’t even begun to glue any of the fake pinecones and leaves he’s bought, and he’s already burnt his hands several times. It’s sat on the side of the table, now, glue dripping slowly off it’s tip. Tommy eyes it warily, but his older brothers can _feel_ his urge to touch the solidifying clear mass.

Wilbur’s materials are spread out over the coffee table, where he’s decided to situate himself. The oldest sibling himself is on the floor, long legs under the table; there’s a collection of fake, vaguely Christmassy objects he’s in the process of sorting, and little plastic plants. There’s two foam wreaths on the table, and Techno reaches out to grab one, lazily, from his position on the couch behind Wilbur.

“Give that ba-ack,” Wilbur whines, as if he isn’t twenty years old. He throws a sweater-clad arm behind him blindly, hitting Techno’s leg. The younger man blinks, slowly, holding the circular form away from Wilbur and smacking his arm away. 

“You aren’t even using it!” Techno snaps, pushing the elder’s arm away playfully. “You can have it when you’ve fucked the first one up.”

“You swo-”

“This was a failsafe, asshole, I’m not going to fuck it up.”

“You swore _twice,_ how come you get to swear?”

“We’re older, brat,” Wilbur says, patting Tommy’s knee in a you’re-not-actually-a-brat-and-we-love-you fashion. “You wanna help?”

“No thank you,” Tommy says, pulling his legs up. “Maybe some day.”

Techno frowns at the polite response. Usually, Tommy’d jump at any opportunity to hang out with Wilbur, constantly trying to impress him, fully unaware he had the twenty-year-old wrapped around his finger. Today, though, he’d been a little withdrawn; maybe almost getting shanked by many candy canes had worn him out.

“Here,” Techno says, pulling himself up using the back of the couch and placing the foam circle on Tommy’s hair delicately. “My liege.”

Tommy grins at him, bright but weary, and concern pangs in Techno’s heart again. Something feels _wrong._

Wilbur turns, slowly, and his eyes widen playfully when he sees Tommy’s makeshift crown. “My wreath!”

“You aren’t even using it,” Tommy drags, dodging Wilbur’s hand with ease as the adult tries to snatch it. “Fuck off.”

“You just fucking swore!” Techno gasps overdramatically. Wilbur takes the moment to snag the wreath and tugs- it slides over Tommy’s hair, pulling it down over his eyes, and somehow fits around his neck.

Wilbur blinks. Tommy barks a laugh. “Now look what you’ve done!”

Techno howls with laughter, falling back against the couch cushions, pale hair spreading over the armrest.

“Take it off!” Wilbur says, hands approaching the plastic. “You’re gonna suffocate or something.”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Tommy!” He tugs on it lightly. “Tommy, Dad’s gonna be sad if you die before you’d been adopted for a year.”

“You’re gonna hurt my nose if you keep tugging, Wil!”

“My wreaaath, Tommy.”

“My nose bones, Wilbur.”

“You’d better hurry up,” Techno quips drily. “He’s losing braincells already.”

“My cartel, whatever,” Tommy grumbles, voice muffled. He tugs on the foam. It presses against the bottom of his nose uncomfortably. “How’d this even get on in the first place?”

Wilbur ignores him, turning his body to face Techno. “Phil’s gonna be _so_ angry if he dies.”

“That’s on you,” Techno says. “He’s going to gut you.”

“Like a fish,” Wilbur agrees. 

“Like a fish,” Techno confirms.

“Black and blue.”

“Fresh human meat.”

“Ha.”

“Ew.”

“He’s going to fucking beat me up,” Wilbur continues, meeting Techno’s gaze. “Like I was- as though I was something incredibly easy to beat up.”

The corner of Techno’s mouth quirks up. “Just you.”

Wilbur smacks him, and they go back and forth for a bit- an inside joke they had, making up the most horrifying things Philza Minecraft could do to a person, because Philza Minecraft was a badass.

Their banter is interrupted, though, by a low-pitched whine that’s quickly cut off. Techno turns, abruptly, towards the source; and that source is Tommy, who’s somehow managed to rip the plastic wreath off while they were distracted, and is now hiding his face behind his arms, trembling. There’s crescents and rips embedded into the foam, as if he’d used up all the force in the world taking it off. He’s trembling, completely soundless. 

Techno and Wilbur look at him in shock for a moment, before Techno sits up abruptly and Wilbur scrambles from where he’s been lounging on the floor. Tommy lets out a short, choked sob. He’s been crying for a bit, Techno can tell, by the scrapes at the edges of his eyes and on the sides of his nose, like he’d rubbed his face raw. How’d he been so _silent?_

“Hey- hey, what’s wrong?” Techno asks, pulling his legs off the couch so he’s fully upright. Wilbur’s hovering next to the boy; Tommy’s pulled into himself, hands curling into his hair tightly. “What’s wrong, Toms?”

Tommy presses further back into the sofa, foam circle discarded by his side. Wilbur slowly moves forwards. “Do you want a hug?” he asks, calmly. Tommy looks conflicted; his face moves to the side, like the start of a refusal, before another sob escapes him and he nods furiously. Techno scoots back to give Wilbur room, and the man leans down, wrapping his arms around the twelve-year-old, who clutches back desperately. Wilbur lifts him up into his arms and sits on the couch so he’s almost cradling the kid. “What happened?”

Techno slides onto the ground so that he’s closer to the two of them. Tommy’s still shaking, hard, and Techno can see dark patches where his tears had rubbed off on Wilbur’s sweater. Wilbur’s large hand rubs over his back, comfortingly, and the only sound is the hitching of Tommy’s breath. 

They wait out the sobs for a bit, and Techno speaks when Tommy’s shoulders stop shaking. “Did we say something?” he says, running a hand through Tommy’s hair. A smaller hand comes up to grasp it, tightly, and the small boy slowly sits up, curly blond hair hitting Wilbur’s chin, still shuddering. Wilbur holds him with rare gentleness. Tommy shakes his head at his question, face still buried in Wilbur’s chest. He lets go of Techno’s hand once he realises his voice is failing him; he starts a word, stutters, stutters and gives up.

His hand moves, and Techno’s eyes catch the movement. It’s ASL alphabet, although it’s crude and not smooth in the slightest. Tommy’s been learning it for fun, but Techno’d seen the boy signing slow letters to himself sometimes. Most of the time Tommy did it to calm himself down when he was hyper or to slowly communicate with anyone else who signed.

_I-T-S_. His hand stops, and he moves it around nervously. _O-F._

Hand in a fist in a circle on his chest, turning so Techno can see. _I’m sorry._

“Was it the wreath?” Techno asks. “Why are you sorry?”

Tommy clears his throat, slowly, coughing up tears. His stutter’s always worse when he’s upset. “Y-you- you said P-Phil-”

He breaks down crying again, knees pulled to his chest, heels digging into Wilbur’s thigh. “T-those were j-jokes, r-right?” His voice cracks, and Techno pulls himself onto the couch in a swift motion to pull the boy into a hug himself. _Oh._

“They were jokes, they were jokes,” Techno whispers reassuringly. “Phil’d never hurt us.”

“I _know_ ,” Tommy whines into Techno’s shoulder. “It’s just- I got scared you were- were gonna send me back-” he’s cut off by another hiccup. “Because the longest I s-stayed anywhere else was- was like a _month_ , and it’s- it’s almost been a year- and if you sent me back they’d hurt me- again-”

Wilbur reaches back into the hug, curling around both his younger siblings. “We’d never hurt you,” he mumbles into Tommy’s hair. “We’d never send you back. You’re our Tommy.”

“Our gremlin child,” Techno says, pressing his face into Tommy’s hair. “We’re lucky to have you, okay? We love you so, _so_ much.” His voice shows the most emotion it has in years. Tommy hiccups.

“I kno-ow,” he says. “I-I was just… afraid. I don’t know _why._ ”

“We’d never hurt you,” Wilbur repeats. “Phil would never hurt you.”

“I know,” Tommy says, glazed look finally fading from his eyes as he rubs them. “I- I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Techno says, rubbing Tommy’s back gently. “We both were the same way when we got adopted. You’re allowed to be scared, but we’re all here for you.”

“I’m not scared of Phil,” Tommy says sincerely. “I’m not- I- I was just scared of- of _leaving.”_

“I know,” Wilbur murmurs quietly. Tommy relaxes upon hearing the words, and slowly, all three of them give up on moving; Tommy falls asleep halfway in both of their laps, and so Techno and Wilbur exchange looks and settle in for the day.

When they wake up, they’re greeted with hot chocolate and some of Tommy’s favorite pastries. Phil pulls Tommy aside for a talk, and Wilbur and Techno politely ignore the quiet sobbing and comforting words from the room across them. There’s a new picture on the fridge. Wilbur decides he’s just going to buy a wreath.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so maybe it’s 3 am 5th december. shush. i m exhausted and have had A Week Trade Marked


	5. Day 5: Christmas Cards

“Mum wants the Christmas cards soon,” Phil says, off-handedly, during breakfast. “You guys want to get them professionally taken?”

Tommy looks up from his pancakes- Phil was incredibly fast at making them, now, and he’d doled out multiple stacks in under fifteen minutes. They were delicious. Tommy’s had a little heart on it.

“Not _professional,”_ Techno says, taking a bite. “You remember how uncomfortable that was?”

“Call Bad,” Wilbur says, scrolling through his phone. “His were really cute, and you don’t even have to pay him.”

“I want to pay him,” Phil frowns, sliding a final pancake onto his own stack and turning off the heat with a click. “He does great work.”

“What are we talking about?” Tommy questions, pulling a leg under himself comfortably. “What Christmas cards would you get done by a professional? Don’t you just buy them?”

Phil smiles at him. “Mum wants family photos for Christmas,” he says. “We didn’t do one last year because we were adopting you, but this year, if you’re up for it-”

“Family photos?” Tommy asks nervously. He taps his fork against the table. Phil can see his hand fidgeting under the table.

“Yeah,” Phil replies, reassuringly. “She has a wall full of them. Last year- remember you wrote on the card?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says. _Hi, I’m Tommy. I am about to be adopted by your son. I’m eleven and i like red if your going to send anything (you don’t have to but ~~da~~ Phil told me to tell you ~~yo~~ my favorite color) Hopefully we can meet in person soon. Have a nice Chrismas. _

“Basically, we take family pictures and she sticks them on her wall! And she let it slide last year, because you were pretty nervous, but she’s pretty adamant this year- I can say no if-”

“No, no- It’s fine! I wanna,” Tommy says, looking down at his hands. “We’re- _family_ photo. That’s- that’s so old of you.”

Phil beams. He’s clearly noticed the reverence surrounding the word family. “I _am_ over double your age, Tommy.”

“He’s ancient,” Techno says, ruffling Tommy’s hair as he walks by. “I’ll ask Bad if he’s free.”

“Am I gonna be in the picture?” Tommy asks Phil, legs swinging. Phil looks at him, eyes soft.

“Of course, Tommy. Mum wants her newest grandson on her wall.”

Bad brings with him Dream and George and Sapnap- well, he doesn’t _bring_ them, they just tag along and refuse to leave. They also bring Niki’s cookies, though, so Phil lets them stay.

Wilbur and George are immersed in conversation by the counter, a cookie halfway to George’s mouth as he talks. Dream and Techno are in the midst of a heated debate- they had a weird rivalry going on, Phil knew, but they were close friends. Tommy and Sapnap are on the couch, Bad’s brother taunting Tommy and the younger boy taunting him right back. Bad frowns next to Phil when Tommy’s face falls at a joke. 

“Sap, if you don’t stop antagonising Tommy I’m gonna eat your cookies, you muffin,” he threatens. “Don’t think I won’t. Niki’s cookies are good.”

“Sorry, Bad,” Sapnap calls. “You just want some of this-“

“ _Ugh_ ** _,_ ** no, stop it,” Bad grumbles, turning back to his camera. “Sorry about them. They just followed me here, and you know I can’t say no to them.”

“I know full well,” Phil says amusedly. “I have these three.”

“They’re not my _kids,_ Phil,” Bad says, flushing. “They’re like brothers.”

“You care about them the same,” Phil points out, and grins when he sees a pleased flush spread to Bad’s cheeks. Dream lunges at Techno, both boys laughing, and Bad sighs, turning another dial.

Sapnap reminds Phil of Tommy, really; both were too young, too vulgar, riled people up and had gotten the short end of the stick that was life. Sapnap also hadn’t been adopted- his and Bad’s parents had died two years ago, when he was the same age as Tommy, but neither of them seemed to mind too much. It was enough to make Phil keep an eye on the two, even though Bad was wonderful at taking care of them.

Sapnap had become close friends with Dream and George, which had been relieving, and Bad had somehow been adopted into their dynamic. They’d formed the BPS- Bad Protection Squad- then the Sapnap Sluts, then the George _why would i ever call my friends goobers? what am i, seven?,_ then the Dream Team. The last one had seemed to stick.

“Boys, don’t fight,” Phil says, leaning over to get a proper look at the camera. Bad shoos him away gently.

“Let me get them onto my laptop first,” he says. Tommy shoves Sapnap off the couch. Both of them laugh.

The best thing about Bad’s pictures is the life embedded into them. He’s no professional, but he knows his way around a camera, and he definitely knows how to capture the warm, comfortable atmosphere that’s surrounding the house these days. There’s no harsh, uncomfortable white sets, with fake, sad Christmas trees or blank white backgrounds. There’s no proper photoshoots- just Bad wandering around with a camera and a skill for putting emotions into pictures.

All of his pictures are candid and surprisingly not blurry. There’s several of random people- there’s one of Sapnap and Tommy bantering, both boy's eyes alight with laughter. There’s one of Wilbur shoving Skeppy’s cheap cracker crown onto Dream’s hair, and there’s another of Phil biting a rubber band between his teeth as he tied Techno’s hair back, and another of George and Wilbur in the middle of an intense staring contest, and another of Wilbur lifting Tommy up, the boy shrieking with laughter, and another of Dream grabbing Tommy from Wilbur by the ankles. They aren’t the family photos, but they’re adorable all the same. Phil reminds himself to print them out later.

Phil immediately knows which picture he’s sending to Mum, though. It’s one of the many pictures of just Tommy, Phil, Wilbur and Techno, and they’re all on the couch. Phil’s halfway through braiding Techno’s short hair- a predecessor to one of the images before- and the rubber band that had been in Phil’s teeth was being stretched absently by Techno, who was laughing at something Wilbur had said, expression open and happy. Wilbur’s at the end of the couch, santa hat in hair, and his arms are wrapped around Tommy, who’s fully laying on him. Tommy’s expression is playfully outraged- at something George’s said, Phil remembers.

It isn’t particularly traditional- Mum’s wall was full of the professional ones, with families looking uncomfortable with fake grins stretched across their faces. These ones, though, had a special place in everyone’s hearts. Maybe he’d ask Bad to take these more often.

_Hello!! This is Tommy, ~~Phil’s adopted~~ your grandson. I am twelve now. I hope we get to meet again soon, last time was very nice. I hope you like the gift we sent. _

_Hi Gran! I’m back from college for a bit, so I’ve been staying at Dad’s. I’ve heard we might be coming over soon. Be ready, we’re a handful.  
Stay safe! Can’t wait to see you. -Wilbur, your favorite _

_Hey Grandma. We all know I’m your favorite. Hope to see you soon, love you, Merry Christmas. -Techno_

_Hey Mum!! We’ll be coming over in January, so get your couches ready. And your walls. I particularly love this picture, you’d better keep it near the fireplace. It’s almost been a year since we adopted Tommy!! Here’s your first Christmas Card with him. Skype me soon!! -Phil, your real favorite_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so so late i swear i am going to catch up so hard


	6. Day 6: Hallmark Movies

Tommy’s pretty sure Phil’d be happy to lend the living room to him, but he’d decided to take over it before anyone could interject. He’s only jumpscared a little bit when Phil pokes his head in, eyes widening at the small mess Tommy’s made in front of the telly. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes,” Tommy blurts without thinking, and immediately slaps his hands over his mouth. “I mean- no, no you aren’t- I meant to ask you, but- Sapnap and George and Dream are coming over for a movie in thirty minutes?”

“That’s okay,” Phil says nonchalantly. Tommy double-takes. “I thought Tubbo was coming over today?”

“He’s gone to his aunt’s house,” Tommy explains, shifting inconspicuously to hide the packet of cookies in his hand. Phil nods. 

“They’re coming in how long?”

Tommy fumbles with his free hand, making a sign for _three_ before clearing his throat. “Thirty minutes,” he says. 

“That’s enough time for me to make hot chocolate,” Phil says. “I see those cookies, Tommy. You don’t have to hide them, they’re all ours.”

Tommy turns red and grins nervously. “Yeah-” he says, pulling them out slightly to flash the wrapper at his dad. “Yeah, sorry, I forget.”

Phil smiles at him, full of familial adoration, and Tommy sinks back into the pile of blankets he’s thrown onto the carpet. The couch is barely visible under it, and Tommy barely is either. “Tell me if you need anything,” Phil says.

“Will do,” Tommy responds, dropping his head back. He hopes Dream hasn’t bought anything shitty.

“You’re gonna love this,” Sapnap says, tanned hands flying animatedly. “They’re absolute shit. See, they’re bad Christmas movies, and you sit and make fun of them.”

“I do like bullying,” Tommy says hesitantly. “This is about a postman.”

“Exactly! It’s pathetic,” the fourteen-year-old says. “Look at them.” He jabs at the CD cover. “They’ve photoshopped the kid’s face.”

Indeed, a smile is plastered onto a fair-haired child’s face. The more Tommy looks at it the more unsettled he is. George leans over and reads the description before laughing. 

“Their names are all Christmas themed,” he says, face flushing. “Carol and her dog Snowball, Chris and his niece Holly. This is going to be terrible.”

“Press mode!” Dream calls from where he’s kneeled by the telly. George obliges, leaning over lazily to snag the remote control and press a button. The screen flashes blue once, twice- There’s a CD menu. Dream whoops.

“Still got it!” He exclaims, cropped hair bouncing in time with his lime hoodie as he throws himself onto George, who _oomph_ s and throws him off. “DVD master, baby.”

“Only thing you’re useful for,” George grumbles. “I can’t believe I had to get the popcorn.”

“You get the best popcorn, babe,” Dream says, sticking his tongue out. Tommy can see George refraining, but he sticks his own tongue out as well, face scrunching up. 

“Don’t call me babe, you weirdo,” he says. Sapnap and Tommy exchange looks and turn back towards the TV.

Heckling the dumbass movie turns out to be fun. George, who’s currently the responsible adult in the room- _who let them be in a room together, Jesus-_ had set down a sheet under the telly, and while it’d initially confused Tommy he’d gotten it a few moments into the movie.

“I don’t like that bitch,” Sapnap announces, not even a minute into the movie. He hurls a single piece of popcorn at the screen. It leaves a little grease stain, and Tommy cackles as he realises what the sheet’s for. Dream grins.

“That’s why we make so much popcorn,” he says. Tommy physically pogs, and George shoves his head down onto the blankets gently.

“Watch the movie,” he says. “Ten bucks one of them is going to be walking the fucking dog, they’ll bump into each other and fuck.”

“None of us have ten bucks, George, I can give you my love,” Sapnap offers. 

“I’d rather die.”

George is eerily correct in his predictions, and Dream digs into his pockets and presents him with a crumpled five dollar note. “From all of us,” he says. “You don’t need Sapnap’s cheap love.”

“GeorgeNotFound, you bitch,” Tommyinnit says. “You can’t do Sapnap like that.” Sapnap hears his name and tone and swoons into his arms. He’s too heavy for Tommy to hold properly, and both of them slowly slide down the many, many blankets.

“Yeah, you bitch,” Sapnap agrees. “Hey- look, there’s the child who tries to get the two main characters together.” He snags a piece of popcorn and throws it at the screen. It hits her in the eye. “I don’t like the way she’s looking at me.”

Tommy watches, with some mixture of shock and horror, as George and Dream accurately predict _every single thing_ that happens- down to the _“Okay, so a lady-” “She’s old, like- like 70-” “Lives across the street-” “Holly recruits her to try and make her uncle get hooked up-” “-and he awkwardly refuses.”_

“Her name was Grace, shit-” Dream checks his pockets again. There’s a single piece of candy, and he drops it into George’s waiting hand. “Thought it’d be Agnes.”

“Don’t get cocky, now,” George snorts, throwing a leg over Tommy and Sapnap. Sapnap grabs it with both arms. “There’s Grace. Wish she’d stop cheating on her dead husband.”

“That’s morbid,” Tommy says. 

“We all know Grace is going to peg Chris, guys, let’s face it-”

“Sapnap!” George laughs, horrified, as Dream doubles into himself with wheezing laughter and blinding reaches out to cover Tommy’s ears. He misses entirely, and Tommy licks the hand that’s clasped around his mouth.

“What the fuck is pegging?” Tommy asks, looking at the older boys who are all doubled over in various states in laughter. “I _will_ go ask Phil.”

“ _No,_ no,” Sapnap gasps, pulling him against his side. “No, it’s- it’s nothing. You’ll find out one day.”

“You’re only two years older than me,” Tommy grumbles, but he pushes himself against Sapnap’s side anyways. The movie’s ending in a bit, and he’s sleepy, so maybe he’ll close his eyes for a minute.

“...he’s _drooling_ on me, Dream, what am I even-”

“You brought this upon yourself, Sap- Dream, take- take as many pictures as you can get.”

“I have like a hundred.”

“That’s okay,” George’s voice says, sounding farther away. 

“I’ll take him,” Dream’s voice says, much closer, and Tommy feels himself being pulled out of Sapnap’s side and whines. Dream hauls him half over his shoulder like he’s a toddler. “Bed.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy murmurs. 

“We’re sleeping in your living room, Phil,” Dream responds, and Tommy closes his eyes. He’s too incoherent for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am catching up i am doing it


	7. Day 7: Lights

Tommy’ll never get bored of staying in one neighborhood permanently. It’s a welcome break from the stress of being bounced around the foster care system for most of his life, and stability’s a privilege he’s never really had but accepts gratefully. Now, he can get up and go out for the day and come back to his family whole, intact and… not on the brink of falling apart.

Today, he’s out with Tubbo- his best friend has told him _nothing_ about where they’re going or what they’re doing, only that it’s going to be quote “pleasant,” and “no, Tommy, we’re not stealing wreaths.”

They’re outside Eret, Niki and Tubbo’s house- their parents were at work this time in the evening- and Tubbo grabs him by the hand and pulls him towards the staircase, jacket flapping behind him. “Woah,” Tommy teases. “Are we playing Minecraft? What’s the hurry?” 

“No hurry,” Tubbo replies, jogging up the stairs neatly and leaving Tommy to stumble over his feet. “C’mon.”

He goes into Niki’s room. Tommy follows nervously. Niki’s there, on her phone sitting at her desk. She mumbles a “Hi, Tommy!” and shoots him a smile before looking away. 

“Why are we here?” Tommy hisses quietly into Tubbo’s ear. The older boy shushes him and opens a window. It leads to a little platform- to keep rain out, presumably, but Tubbo stands on it with ease and gestures for Tommy to do the same.

“Keep your feet at an angle,” Tubbo says, grabbing him by the collar as he nearly slips and grabbing onto the window with his free hand. “I don’t want to get you killed before you get me my birthday present. Come on.”

“Where are we _going_?” Tommy asks. He grabs Tubbo’s sleeve as he nearly slides off. “This is so dangerous.”

“You’re the one who talks about all the parkour you can do,” Tubbo says, unbothered. He takes Tommy’s hand and guides it to a metal pole embedded into the concrete. “Hold this. Watch me.”

Tommy clings onto the pole for dear life as Tubbo slowly climbs the wall- there’s notches, he realises, for footholds and grips. It’s still _terrifying_ , because they’re two stories up and he finally has something to lose. But he never was scared of heights.

Tommy waits for Tubbo to reach his destination before starting to climb- sure, Tommy’s lithe and athletic enough to climb a _roof_ , usually, but he’s trying not to damage the vines that curl up beautifully up the side of Niki’s room. He reaches up when he’s halfway, and Tubbo leans down and they clasp forearms. The older boy hauls him up with surprising ease, and Tommy scrambles for grip on the shingled roof before letting himself relax.

“Niki!” Tubbo calls down from where they came from, dark hair falling over his eyes as he leans over the edge. “Can you give it to me?”

Tommy rolls over, careful not to slide off and die, and watches as Tubbo’s mouth moves as he talks to his older sister. He’s tired as fuck, honestly, and that taste of adrenaline hadn’t helped.

“Get away from the edge,” he groans, catching his breath as Tubbo leans over farther. The older boy’s shoulders move in a vague shrugging motion before he stands up, front covered in the remnants of frost.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Tubbo says. He turns, and he’s brandishing a massive basket that he hadn’t been brandishing before. Tommy’s mouth drops open. “We’re having a picnic.” 

Tubbo has all kind of snacks- there’s an unholy amount of sugar, some of Niki’s baked goods, two thermos filled with hot chocolate, crisps, everything. Tommy stares in awe. “Niki made me pay for those cookies,” Tubbo grumbles. “At least she helped me get this up.”

At the very bottom Tubbo’s phone and Bluetooth speakers have been tucked in between the layers of a blanket. “Sweet!” Tubbo exclaims, shaking the blanket out. “Get over here, Tommy, get under the blanket.”

He does so, both boys instinctively huddling together for warmth. It’s starting to get dark already, and Tubbo waves off his concern. “I told Phil you were coming,” he says. “He’s coming to pick you up later.” 

God, Tubbo really does think of everything. The older boy balances the Bluetooth speaker between them, and _calm1.ogg_ starts to play, the familiar Minecraft music lost to the silence in the air around them. Tubbo really _did_ think of everything. 

“I can’t believe you’re gonna be thirteen in a week or two,” Tommy says, voice wobbling as he discreetly wipes at his eyes. 

“I’ll officially be a teenager,” Tubbo replies, looking over at him absently and shifting to wrap an arm around him when he realises Tommy’s crying. “Why’re you crying? Is something wrong?” 

Tommy’s voice refuses to work, and he lets out a wet hiccup. “Do you want to go downstairs?” Tubbo prods awkwardly. Tommy shakes his head and clears his throat until he can get a word out.

“N-nothing bad,” he croaks. “I- I just- you’re my best friend, Tubbo.”

Tommy can _see_ Tubbo’s eyes soften, and he crosses his arms as Tubbo squeezes his shoulders. “Love you too, Tommy,” he says. “And hey, look- people are turning on the Christmas lights.”

It’s dark, and the two watch, from where they’re huddled on the roof, as the neighborhood around them slowly lights up with wacky, extravagant Christmas decorations. The streets are decked with fairy lights, and they exclaim when the fairy lights Eret’s hung on the roof light up as well. Tommy’s certain he hears Niki’s laugh over the quiet notes of Cat playing from the speakers.

Tommy wants to fall asleep right there, eyes glazed over as they watch the lights, but Tubbo gently shakes his shoulder before he does. “Phil’s about to come,” he murmurs quietly. “I can’t carry you down, unless you want to be smushed by me using you as a cushion.”

Tommy giggles, groggily, and sits up as Tubbo starts to collect the things and put them in the basket. Mellohi floats through the air as it starts to snow again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i need to fix this sleeping thing. i posted yesterday's at 5 am. it's currently 3 am. i have gotten 2 hours of sleep in the last week . cringe moment


	8. Day 8: Parties

It’s nearing midnight when Tommy makes his way to the kitchen.

The house is alive tonight, filled with laughter and the warmth of the fireplace and glowing orange light fixtures. There’s a crowd of people huddled in the lounge, draped over sofas and perched cautiously on armrests. Three boys- Karl, Quackity and Sapnap- are sitting on the staircase’s railing, giggling amongst themselves. Sapnap hangs upside down precariously. Dream and George are under him, engaged in conversation, but Tommy can see the way they both look ready to grab the teenager if he falls.

Most others are surrounding Wilbur- he’s playing the guitar, singing softly, and pauses occasionally to let Schlatt make his quips. It’s very funny, apparently, and inappropriate, because the teenagers surrounding the two explode into laughter whenever Schlatt speaks and the adults turn away disapprovingly. Niki’s voice joins Wilbur’s, occasionally, and whenever the two start there’s an appreciative silence as their voices ring across the room.

He leaves Tubbo in a conversation with Techno and Fundy, their cousin who Wilbur constantly doted on. He was funny, though, and incredibly smart; all of Tommy’s cousins that he’s met- including Quackity and _Schlatt_ , _apparently, how come no one told him_ \- have been pretty cool. Phil’s- and now his- family seems to be amazing. It feels almost too good to be true. If it’s a dream it’s an amazing one.

Phil’s in the kitchen, sorting out piles of teetering dishes. He smiles when he sees Tommy enter; even though he looks exhausted, like he usually does in the wake of parties, his smile lights up the room brighter than all the fairy lights in the world. Tommy smiles back and sits by the counter as his father continues to stack.

“We’ll do these in the morning,” Phil says. “You’re helping, party-boy.”

Tommy gasps, hand flying to his heart. “This is _my_ party, Dad,” he says, eyes brightening as Phil’s smile stretches wider at his use of the term. “Surely you’re not going to make the main character of your life _wash dishes_.”

“I can and I will,” Phil says, pushing a pile of plates back against the counter and dipping his hands into the running tap. He flicks some water at Tommy, who crinkles his nose.

“Ew,” he says. “I’m drying.”

“Sure,” Phil replies. “Up to you.” He sits down on the counter next to Tommy, wiping his hands against his shirt. His face is illuminated red and green from the lights around them. Wilbur’s voice cuts short, and there’s a cheer of laughter as Schlatt makes another joke. “If Sapnap falls and hits his head it’s entirely on Karl.”

“I don’t think anyone could ever blame Karl for anything,” Tommy observes. “Especially not Bad.”

Phil sighs. “You’re right. Let’s pin it on Dream.” 

“Deal,” Tommy says. The leftovers of the cake are on the counter in front of him. He pulls it over with a finger. There’s enough to faintly figure out the word ‘adopt’. It’s a Minecraft cake, which was slightly humiliating but mostly made him incredibly happy.

Phil leans back from the island, snags two clean spoons and offers him one. Tommy takes it, and they both dig into the cake with muted enthusiasm. There’s the sound of Dream yelping, and Tommy leans over to see Sapnap cradled awkwardly in the older boy’s arms, laughing. 

“He fell,” he informs Phil, returning to his seat. Phil laughs. “He’s okay.”

“I assumed,” Phil says. Bad’s voice starts to lecture Sapnap, and a smile spreads over Phil’s face. “Hope Bad doesn’t get too angry.”

“Nah,” Tommy says. “It’s my party. He’ll feel bad.”

Indeed, Bad’s voice disappears on a sharp note moments later, and Wilbur’s guitar starts up again. This time it’s a Christmas song, and everyone joins in, filling the house with the echo of voices. Phil quietly hums along, and Tommy leans into him. The man wraps an arm around him. His throat vibrates as he hums.

“Glad Wilbur’s entertaining them,” Phil notes at one of the pauses. “I wonder how inappropriate their jokes are today.”

“Very,” Tommy says. “I listened for a bit. Lots of jokes about sex.”

“Jesus,” Phil says. “Can’t stop ‘em.”

The cheer starts up as Schlatt finishes his bit. ‘All I Want For Christmas’ starts again. Phil hums along, hands warm around Tommy’s shoulder.

“I’m happy I adopted you,” Phil murmurs, pressing his lips to Tommy’s blond hair. “I can’t believe it’s only been a year. I love you like it’s been lifetimes.”

Tommy’s eyes prickle with tears. He buries his face into the man’s shirt, hands wrapping around his torso. Phil hauls him onto his lap, even though Tommy’s probably too big for it.

“Love you too,” he mumbles back. There’s a damp spot growing on Phil’s shirt, but Tommy can’t bring himself to care. “Love you lifetimes.”

The music keeps going, and Niki and Wilbur’s voices blend in with Phil’s humming. The cake remains uneaten in front of them, and there’s another collective yelp as Quackity topples over the banister. Techno and Fundy and Tubbo are probably still deep in conversation. His dad is holding him. It’s been a year since he was adopted.

This year has been the best of his life. He’s glad he’s getting to savor it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8 minutes to 9th back on track yes!!


	9. Day 9: Gingerbread

“You have s _o_ much energy,” Niki observes. “Wil asked me to hang out today, and I couldn’t because I’m still exhausted, and it was _your_ party yesterday.”

“Well I’d be a lot more energetic if your brother hadn’t _ditched_ me,” Tommy grumbles, leaning against a counter. “Can I sit on this?”

“Go ahead,” Niki says. Tommy pulls himself up. “And he hasn’t ditched you, Tommy, he has an extra class.”

“What a bitch,” Tommy says, toeing off his sneakers. They drop to the ground in a small explosion of flakes of dried mud. “Shit- I’ll clean that up.”

“No need,” Niki says. “I usually vacuum after baking.”

“No, no- it’s fine,” Tommy says, hopping down. His socks are bright red and nearly send him careening to the floor. “Where’re the tissues?”

Niki points him to the kitchen towel dispenser on the wall, and he rips out a few pieces carefully before dropping down next to his sneakers and starting to pick away the dirt. She absently adds more flour- the molasses had made the dough a little too sticky- and checks the oven. The last batch is done, and she pulls it out of the heat with a flourish.

“How long will it take Tubbo to come?” Tommy asks from his spot on the floor. The brown is mostly gone. 

“He’s probably messaged you.” Niki replies, shifting the gingerbread cookies onto a cooling rack and making her way back to the dough. There’s the sound of shifting as Tommy spreads out onto the ground and pulls out his phone.

“Ugh,” he says. “He has.” There’s a short silence as Niki dumps the dough onto the counter to wrap it. Tommy stands up. “Isn’t that a little dry?”

Niki frowns. “I mean, gingerbread does tend to look a little dry.” She squints at the dough. “But you’re right. Too much flour.”

Tommy hovers over her shoulder and watches her knead the dough a little more, and hands her clingfilm when she makes grabby hands at it. He follows her to the fridge as she sets the fresh dough in it and stares at the pre-cut tray she removes from the racks. 

“Why are you making so many?” he asks, still on her tail as she moves back to the oven to slide the tray in. Niki shuts it firmly, and orange glows through the tinted glass. 

“I’m selling these,” she says. The gingerbread cookies on the counter have cooled, and Tommy follows her, yet again, as she gets the frosting from the fridge. She stops abruptly halfway back to the counter and laughs when the boy bumps into her. “What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing,” Tommy says nonchalantly, almost bumping into her again. “Just tired.”

“Extra clingy,” she corrects. Tommy doesn’t deny it, and his lip twitches slightly. “You want to help me decorate these?”

“How many will I get for free?” Tommy asks, cheekily. Niki smiles at him.

“Four,” she says. “But they have to look like you and your family.”

Tommy looks at her with wide eyes. “How many do I get to eat?”

“I have no control over that,” Niki says, eyes twinkling, and watches as Tommy’s eyes light up and he scrambles closer. “It would be nice of you to leave some.”

“I’ll think about it,” Tommy says. “I probably have five dollars, wait-” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Niki waves him away and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I don’t think I could sell anything you did make, anyway.”

“Just so you know, I resent that,” Tommy says. He’s about as tall as her shoulder. His hair tickles her neck. “I am amazing at everything I do.”

“I know,” Niki says, humoring him. “Sit down and decorate.”

“Yes ma’am,” Tommy says, sliding into a chair across the island and snagging a bag of frosting. 

They work for a while, Niki effortlessly frosting cookies within minutes and switching to the next few and Tommy bent over his, slowly and carefully piping thin lines of frosting onto his cookies, tongue sticking out with concentration. Niki sneaks a few pictures. Wilbur responds with an _awww take more pictures_.

She’s checking on the biscuits in the oven when Tommy nudges her shoulder. He looks exhausted, but very very proud. “Come look,” he says. 

They’re- they’re _bad_ , sure, but adorable. The first thing Niki notices is that Techno is bright pink and realises that these are their Minecraft characters. Phil is characterised with green and white stripes, Wilbur with a blob of yellow for a sweater, and Tommy’s gingerbread man is wearing the signature red-and-white shirt he favors.

Tommy drops his head onto the counter, dirty blond hair tousled and splaying out. “Wake me up when Tubbo comes,” he mumbles, voice muffled by marble. He’s immediately out like a light, and Niki pats his head politely before maneuvering around him to finish packing the biscuits. They sell out within an hour, usually, and she’s pretty well known around their neighborhood for her baked goods.

She packs Tommy’s gingerbread cookies in a little tupperware box as well after taking a million pictures for Wilbur. They’re placed in delicately, Niki full aware of how much effort went into making them. He’s a good kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .. only . only 14 hours late . we back off track we back off tra


	10. Day 10: Naughty or Nice

“Why are you so clingy today, huh?” Wilbur asks their younger brother, who’s draped on top of his chest, half asleep. Techno pauses from where he’s walking by and leans his arms on the sofa, curious. 

Tommy just… doesn’t reply, face still buried between Wilbur’s chest and the couch. They’re covered by a blanket and all that’s visible is a mop of blond hair on Wilbur’s chest. It’d be endearing if it wasn’t so concerning.

Techno meets Wilbur’s eyes. His face is illuminated by the muted TV, and they stare at each other for a second before- _look at Tommy, furrow brow, glance to the side, Phil?, no need, maybe, give it a day._

Wilbur shifts Tommy higher, lifting the twelve-year-old up slightly with his knee and tucking him into his side like a life-sized ragdoll. Tommy doesn’t react. Techno and Wilbur share one last glance- _you sure? no-_ before Techno shrugs and makes for the counter. Wilbur stretches slightly to reach the remote, turns up the volume of the telly and starts to channel surf.

_enjoy up to fifty percent off this holiday season!_

_Side effects may include nausea_

_I couldn’t imagine life without my Amazon Alexa_

_jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the_

_end of year sale! Shop now_

_you know what happens if they get on the naughty list!_

“Oops! All ads,” Wilbur grumbles, hand carding through Tommy’s hair. “I forgot about naughty and nice, honestly.”

“Same,” Techno says. “Naughty kids get coal, right?”

“Right,” Wilbur confirms. “What a weird fucking concept.”

“It’s not _that_ weird,” Techno says, watching the screen.

_Santa gave to me, twelve percent off_

_naughty or nice? Nice! Well,_

_Head to your local Primark_

Tommy pulls himself off of Wilbur, movements sluggish, blonde hair rumpled. He knees Wilbur as he gets up and apologises, throwing the blanket back over his twenty-year-old brother. “I’m going to bed,” he mumbles, making his way towards the stairs.

Techno meets Wilbur’s eyes again as the small figure leaves. They’re crinkled in concern. Tommy never willingly dragged himself to bed when he could be halfway in someone’s lap asleep, yet…

He stands from the counter and takes Tommy’s place on the couch. Wilbur plops his legs in his lap. Techno rests his hands on them. “What’s up with him?”

“Do you think it was the telly?” Wilbur questions. “He stiffened up during one of the ads.”

“None of them had anything particularly triggering, I don’t think,” Techno observes. “Not that I remember. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Me neither,” Wilbur sighs. The television plays some stupid transformers movie. They watch it in silence. “Guess we’ll have to wait.”

Techno is a patient teenager, but he’s nowhere near patient enough to sit around and watch a woman and a robot flirt while his brother was upstairs upset. Wilbur falls asleep, and Techno leaves him be, slowly padding upstairs to Tommy’s bedroom, a door down the hall. The door is covered in stickers and a poster.

He knocks, gently, and there’s no reply. The door’s halfway open, though, so he pushes it open quietly.

The room is… _unnaturally_ clean. Tommy’s neat, sure, but not _clean_ in any way. He’d clean his room by hiding his many coke cans under the bed. Techno sees an alarming amount of them in the bin. 

He observes the room. There’s books in a neat pile on the desk, and it looks like everything’s been wiped down in the hour Techno’d taken to come upstairs. His eye catches on a bag, then, and he realises what’s happening.

It’s a go bag. Techno was familiar with them- he’d been a bit of a flight risk when he was first adopted- and seeing one here, now, when Tommy’s been so perfectly happy yesterday, bringing them poorly decorated cookies from Niki’s, and when he’d celebrated the anniversary of being adopted barely two days prior is worrying. This was… worse than he’d thought.

Tommy, himself, was curled on top of neatly made blankets and sheets on his bed, as if he was afraid of ruining it. Techno considers leaving him there to rest and dealing with it later but his guilty conscience makes him sit down on the bed next to the sleeping form. He runs a hand through the boy's hair and lowers himself down next to him.

It’s something Phil used to do, back in the days when Techno’s eyes were always on the closest exit. Something about the man caring enough to curl around him unprompted always made him want to stay a bit more. Hopefully it’d help Tommy as well.

Techno wakes up to an empty bed and the rifling of dishes in the kitchen- it’s incredibly loud, so it must be Tommy. Indeed, Tommy sorting through a pile of dishes, looking for a bowl, when Techno comes down. Wilbur’s back on the couch. Tommy leans into Techno’s touch when the seventeen-year-old wraps his arms around the preteen’s shoulders. He takes it as a win. 

He retreats to the sofa as well, after a bit. A Christmas movie is on, and Wilbur’s blankly ignoring it in favour of his phone. Techno does the same a moment after staring at the screen. 

_whether you’ll be naughty… or nice!_

“You’re on my naughty list, Tommy!” Wilbur calls absently. “Get me some-”

A crash resounds behind them, and Techno scrambles to his feet, followed closely by Wilbur. Tommy’s standing in the middle of a hurricane of glass, staring down at the shards in shock. To neither of their surprise, the boy’s shoulders slowly start to shake. Tears start to drip down his chin.

“Stay here,” Techno hisses at his older brother, before dodging back to the front door to slip on Phil’s slippers and near jogging back to where Wilbur’s placating the child, slowly edging closer to the glass. Techno pushes him to the side and scoops Tommy up bodily. The boy flinches when Techno reaches for him.

Techno deposits them both onto the couch, Tommy still wrapped in his arms. He and Wilbur meet eyes, and he motions towards the shards of glass. The oldest boy wordlessly turns and moves for the cleaning supplies.

“Okay,” Techno begins. “What’s wrong, Tommy?”

The boy stiffens in his arms, before wriggling out. Techno lets him. He situates himself on the couch, shivering hard enough to see. “It’s okay,” he mumbles. “You don’t have to-” His breath hitches. 

“Was it the ad?” Techno asks, reaching for the remote as he remembers. The room is plunged into darkness. Wilbur flicks on a light from where he enters with a broom. “Naughty or nice?”

Tommy full-body shudders. Techno takes that as a yes. “Why?” He’ll stop prodding if it gets overwhelming, but right now Tommy just looks _miserable,_ shaking against the couch like he’s cornered. Techno backs away unnoticeably. 

“Y-You can- you can just send- send me away, you know,” Tommy mumbles, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of the sweater that’s a little too big for him. “It’ o-okay. I- I enjoyed the year here.”

“Why in the world would we be sending you away?” Techno asks incredulously. He reaches for the boy, and he doesn’t recoil, so Techno takes his hands. “Tommy, you’ve given us no reason to send you away. We would never, no matter what you did.”

“B-but-”

“Did you do something? Drugs? I’m pretty sure Phil smoked weed when he was your age, he’ll forgive you.”

“He did?” Tommy looks up with him with wide blue eyes. Techno grins faintly. 

“Don’t tell him I told you,” Techno grins, even though he’s exaggerating by a _lot_. “Nothing you do is going to get you sent away. I almost stabbed Wilbur when he first got adopted.”

“ _What_?”

“It was an accident,” Techno shrugs. “But I packed up my bags anyway.” He tugs on the boy slightly, and he allows himself to be pulled into Techno’s lap again. He’s light and very small for his age- he’d probably hit a growth spurt at some point- so it’s easiest for Techno to just cart him around when he’s upset. “It was okay, though. But I get being scared.”

Tommy’s face crumples at the last sentence. “I- Wilbur said naughty.” He hiccups, sounding much younger than twelve. Techno’s heart twists. “Mummy said I was on the naughty list before she- before-”

Oh. Wilbur’s face falls from where he’s picking up the glass, and he puts the dustpan down to squat and scrub at his face. Techno pulls Tommy closer, and the boy melts into the embrace. He makes a mental note to never say the word naughty again, and he swears he can see the cogs in Wilbur’s brain turning similarly.

“Your mum was wrong,” Techno says, smoothing back the kid’s hair and fighting to keep his voice even. “You’re one of the best people I know, okay? I’m so glad to have you as my brother. We could never send you away.”

Tommy lets out a sob- one of those childish ones, high-pitched and vaguely snotty- and Wilbur dumps the glass into the bin with a loud clunk and _sprints_ for the sofa before taking over the comfort-child train.

Techno’s entirely right when he says that they could never send Tommy away; he’s made such a massive impact on their lives that none of them could imagine life without him anymore. Phil’d thought that Techno might’ve gotten jealous, and had it been anyone else he would’ve been right, but Tommy’d wormed his way into his heart immediately. He was a good kid, surrounded by layers upon layers of walls that had finally fallen. 

He lived in the photos stuck to the walls and the side of the fridge, and in the doodles he’d scribbled onto his bedframe next to Wilbur’s, and in the marks on the wall determining their heights. He lived in Wilbur’s music, as the high, droning pitch he’d added to his songs as a reminder of the boy; he lived in Techno’s videos, interrupting his recordings with a “It’s Tommy, innit?” and making a name for himself. He lived in Phil’s hardcore worlds he was famous for, in little upside-down T’s that Phil let be. He lived in coke cans and carefully crafted gingerbread cookies and sneakers thrown across rooms. He was in every scrape in the wall, tripping and accidentally gauging holes in Techno’s door. He was _everywhere._

Phil’s bringing the tree tonight. They’d make a family day out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so late but i am going to excuse myself for being in excruciating pain . if i don't catch up, honestly, i'm just gonna continue with this going a day late alksjdla  
> also 1.7k chapter pog


	11. Day 11: Ornaments & Decorations

Phil’s bought the seven-foot-tall Christmas tree, because he’s extra and wants Tommy to have a massive tree for his first proper Christmas. The tree last year’d been much smaller and sadder in comparison. Wilbur and Techno can’t bring themselves to mind.

Right now, though, it’s one upright pole and several detached, needled poles on the floor. Wilbur’s taken up the heinous job of sorting the branches by color and number order, and Techno’s inspecting the base with a keen eye. Tommy and Phil sit by the fire, digging through a box of ornaments. 

“I can’t believe it’s color and number coded,” Wilbur grumbles. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

“It isn’t that hard,” Techno retorts. “Your skull is just too thick.”

“I’m just gonna take that as a compliment,” Wilbur replies, staring blankly at the strip at the end of one of the branches before slowly, hesitantly putting it in a pile, separating two numbers to make space for it. “Wish Phil’d bought a real one. Then I wouldn’t have to sit here and do this.”

“Then I’d have scrapes all over my doorway,” Phil says. “And I wouldn’t get to watch you struggle.” He pulls out a small heart shaped bauble. Tommy watches in interest. “This is the one I bought at the market a week back. Reminded me of Minecraft.”

“That hurts,” Techno says. “Not your own kids.”

“My hardcore world got me more fame,” Phil says, grinning brightly as Techno sticks his tongue out childishly. He copies the action. Tommy slowly separates the bland, shiny baubles from the more interesting ones.

“This is like Techno’s mugs,” he says. “Like- a collection.”

“Yeah,” Phil says, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “I’m not religious at all, but everyone said Christmas was a time for family. Started collecting family stuff.” He reaches in the box and pulls out another bauble. It’s an amber color, and it’s a soft matte. It’s drawn on with white and black marker. ‘WILBUR’ is neatly penned on it in a child’s writing, and there’s a small doodle of a guitar on the back. “There’s Wilbur’s.”

“Wilbur made this?” Tommy asks, inspecting it with something akin to awe. “When?” 

“When I first adopted him,” Phil says. “His first Christmas. We had another tree this size. Same with Techno. They got kinda fucked in storage, though.”

Tommy reaches in to the pink bauble in the box. It’s similar, only it says ‘TECHNO’ and is covered in little books and references Minecraft. “This is sweet!”

“He’s the exact same now,” Phil laughs. “Minecraft and reading. Majoring in English.” Techno shoots him a look, but his eyes are soft. “Favorite color still pink. I’m glad you don’t like hot pink, it’s an eyesore.”

“Hot pink’s okay,” Techno argues half-heartedly. “But- yeah, it’s an eyesore.”

“Here’s mine,” Phil says. It’s green- his signature green- and half is covered by a massive heart, the other half by ‘PHIL’. “Made it when Techno first made his. I’d decided that I was gonna adopt more kids.”

Tommy hums, reaching in again. It’s a red matte bauble. “And this?-” There’s a fragile hope in his eyes. Phil smiles at him gently, shifting to grab the markers from behind him. 

“That’s yours, Toms,” he says, watching the boy’s face light up and his hands gravitate towards the pens. He laughs and hands them over. “I wanted to give it to you last year, but I think it was too soon. I didn’t put the others up either then.”

Tommy’s eyes shine as he delicately writes his name onto the bauble, hand scrambling to hold it firmly. Techno and Wilbur have looked up from where they’re slowly setting up the tree- Wilbur’s chin rests in his hands, legs folded on the ground, and Techno’s elbows are rested in his hair. Both of them are watching with adoration as their youngest brother carefully scribbles out a drawing- his face, then Phil’s, then Wilbur’s, and then Techno’s. A full family. 

“He’s- he’s gonna fall, you prick!” Techno shrieks as Tommy tips to the side, laughing brightly. “Wilbur, stay upright, you bitch- you’re gonna kill our little brother!”

“He likes it!” Wilbur argues, tightening his grip around Tommy’s leg. “Tommy- if you fall this is  _ entirely _ on you.”

“No it isn’t!” Tommy shrieks, clutching Wilbur’s hair. “Wil- Wilby, I’m gonna fall, you asshole!”

“No you aren’t!” Wilbur exclaims, reaching up to Tommy. The boy grabs his larger hands with both of his. “See?” They’ve steadied, now, and Techno is hovering anxiously around his brothers. Phil’s in the corner of the living room, watching Wilbur cart Tommy around on his shoulders, phone recording in hand. There’s a beam on his face. 

The four baubles- yellow, pink, green and red- are strung at the forefront of the tree, right in the line of sight. There’s hundreds of others- the Minecraft baubles Kristin’d gifted him, the one he’d bought from Scotland, the three baubles Mum had sent every time he’d adopted a child, knowing of his little collection- but those four were in the spot of honor, of course.

Techno hands Tommy the star- it’s a very basic one, plain gold and shiny- and the boy wavers as he reaches forwards, Techno’s hand fisted in Wilbur’s sweater to stop them from toppling into the pines. Both older boys- and Phil- let out whoops as he places the star firmly, and it stays on. It completes the tree well.

And then Phill has to drop his phone onto the sofa as the tower of Wilbur and Tommy topples, all three of his boys letting out similar shrieks as Phil catches Tommy by the waist and Techno’s crushed by Wilbur falling on him, wheezing with laugher and getting elbowed in painful places. Mum’s going to love this recording, he decides, if she doesn’t mind getting her eardrums blown out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two days late because my perception of time is so, so fucked. maybe i should sleep more?  
> no . never


	12. Day 12: Secret Santa

Out of all the people in their friend group- the Dream Team (Tommy still preferred the Sapnap Sluts), Bad-and-Skeppy, Wilbur’s friends,  _ Tubbo _ \- of course he’d gotten Bad. Just his luck.

He didn’t  _ know _ what to get Bad. They were friends, sure, although their friendship contained an unhealthy amount of “Various swear!” “Language!” Tommy also- completely unintentionally, mind you- saw Bad as a  _ little _ bit of a parental figure. It was hard to hang out with Sapnap and not do so.

And sure, Tommy was a piece of shit sometimes, but he wasn’t going to get Bad a gag gift or something shit in general. He wasn’t gonna pussy out of this because he wasn’t sure what to buy. He was a massive fucking man and he was going to buy Bad the best Secret Santa he’d ever received.

They’re all milling around in Dream’s house- the teenager was particular about them all leaving and arriving at specific times, though Tommy’d seen the man slip out of the house early- the rest of the Dream Team was slowly starting to realise. They’d have to return by 5 to exchange their gifts. It definitely wasn’t Christmas yet, but everyone’s schedules had lined up today, and they were too impatient to actually wait for the 25th.

Tommy grabs Skeppy by the collar loosely and drags him to the kitchen, completely inconspicuously. The teenager complies, eyes wide. “Am I getting murdered?” he asks, hands in the air.

“No, you prick,” Tommy hisses. “What does Bad like?”

“What?” Skeppy asks again, eyes still saucers. Tommy sighs.

“What does Bad like, Jesus, Skeppy.”

“Oh!” Skeppy exclaims, realisation hitting him like a visible bolt of lightning. “Oh- I thought you’d buy whoever you got a whoopie cushion and be done with it. That’s what I’m gonna do, anyway.”

“And a puzzle,” Tommy guesses. “And a cash prize.”

“You got it,” the teenager says, letting out a giggle. “But- yeah, Bad, he- he likes muffins. And Rat. And uh- me.”

“Is that all?” Tommy asks, disappointed. “Can I buy a dog for ten bucks.?”

“Please don’t,” Skeppy says. “I have money. We can get a more expensive dog.” They meet each other’s eyes, contemplatively, before breaking into giggles and looking away. “That’s totally against the rules.”

“Do  _ not _ buy Bad a dog,” Techno says, rubbing a hand through Tommy’s hair as he walks by. “Skeppy, if you let him buy a dog-”

“No, no I’m not!” Skeppy yelps as Techno grins and flashes a im-watching-you sign. “You’re fucking terrifying.”

“I try,” the pink haired man calls. Tommy turns back to Skeppy.

“What does he like, Skeppy, I only have a few hours to figure this out.”

Skeppy pauses, putting his chin into a hand, face scrunching in a way that suggested he was actually working his brain. “He’s sentimental,” he says. “Not like you- I know you have that weird attachment to discs on Dream’s server-”

“It isn’t  _ weird, _ ” Tommy grumbles.

“-he likes pictures and stuff. I have a lotta pictures of him if you want to go off that.”

“Are you sure you guys aren’t dating?” Tommy questions. Skeppy laughs, pulling out his phone and starting to select many, many pictures. 

“Pretty sure,” he says, tapping send before gently shoving Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy’s phone dings. “Almost go time. Get ready. I’m heading to the mall if you want to join me.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tommy mumbles, mentally mapping out their area. “I’m heading the opposite way.”

Not many of the others head in the direction he’s going, most heading towards the mall. He has a short conversation with George before they part ways, the older man running towards Dream, who’s been out for almost half an hour now. Dream winks at him before starting to sprint towards the road. Tommy laughs before making his way into the arts-and-crafts store.

He wanders around there for a short bit before leaving with what he’s found- he’s spent quite a bit of his fifteen dollars on a sturdy spiral notebook, construction paper, pens and several rolls of patterned tape. He’s seen Niki make scrapbooks, but those were over a long period of time. Today, Tommy’s getting Bad the best present he can possibly receive, and he’s fucking speedrunning it.

Tommy heads over to a printing shop, next, and transfers the images Skeppy’s sent him to the counter, and slowly sifts through his own camera roll as he waits. Not many people have noticed, but Tommy enjoys taking pictures too. None of them are professional or well-taken in the slightest- they’re from the perspective of a twelve-year-old dodging through people in events, or just sneakily catching a picture while they’re out. There’s no grace in them, but they’re chaotic and in the moment. 

He’s got many shiny printouts half an hour later, and a bit over two hours to spend slowly constructing the scrapbook. As much as he wants to coat the entire book in all the worst words he knows- there’s another word for cat that’s pretty interesting- he refrains. He’s going to fucking win the concept of gift-giving, and he can’t do that by making Bad have a fucking heart attack.

The park is relatively empty, and Tommy’s pretty sure that no one from their friend group is going to join him if he sits there, so he situates himself under a tree comfortably and starts to work.

An hour later, he has a finished product. He’s carefully shifted through his camera roll again and labelled his images with dates and locations, and carefully taped the images to the paper. The book’s relatively thin, so it fills up quickly; by the time he’s finished it’s double it’s original size, filled to the brim with layers upon layers on images. At the end- he couldn’t resist, okay, he just couldn’t- there’s a carefully crafted pop up, vaguely crumpled, that proudly proclaims: ‘FUCK’. Bad can ignore it if he wants to.

They’re going to meet up at Dream’s house in a very short while- Tommy begins to walk there, and sees some of his friends heading the same way. Anxiety twists in his guts, but he squeezes the book into the little bag he’d bought and muscles his way into a conversation between Techno and Dream. He can’t wait to give his gift. It’s the fucking best. He’s absolutely winning this Christmas thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> genuinely shit chapter!! currently 5 am should i just record my terrible sleeping schedule?? also . people that are worried. do not be. i get many many naps
> 
> also this chapter does continue on to the next don't worry alkjdalks


	13. Day 13: Reindeer

Tommy’s a good kid, and anyone who says otherwise is incredibly wrong and Bad  _ will _ use them for target practice. Not really. But he wants to, sometimes.

Sure, the boy curses an abhorrent amount, and sure he’s incredibly rude sometimes, but- he’s been through a lot, okay. Bad couldn’t control Sapnap, and he’d grown up with him in- they weren’t the best conditions, but they were okay. Tommy’d grown up in the system. If he was a little rough around the edges, there wasn’t really room to blame him.

The thing was that the boy really is a sweetheart. He doesn’t show it often, but Bad has a keen eye that’s helpful in figuring people out. Tommy’s loud and rude, but he carries this odd gentleness that’s so rare- and only shows it when no one’s looking; while petting one of the neighbor’s cows, falling asleep on others, laughing at a bad joke. It’s what makes Bad- and many others- incredibly fond of the boy.

Bad knows that Tommy’s gotten him as his Secret Santa almost immediately when the boy drags his best friend into the kitchen sneakily- well, he’s  _ trying _ to be sneaky and failing. It’s pretty evident, and everyone who’s seen the two seem to let out a sigh of resignation. Bad’s just curious as to what he’s going to receive. Tommy wasn’t known for his thoughtfulness, after all, but Bad was pretty sure he’d come through here. The boy was eager to please others, and while Bad wouldn’t mind in the slightest if he got a terrible gift- he felt like Tommy’d put his all into it.

Bad receives Eret as his Secret Santa and ends up buying the younger several bottles of nail polish and a small care kit. The teenager’d recently started painting his nails, and he doesn’t have many colors, Bad’s pretty sure. It’s not the most original idea, but he notices Eret staring longingly at stands of varnish while they’re looking for their gifts in the same mall and decides he’ll make do.

At 5, Dream’s house is flooded with people returning from all directions. Bad had met Skeppy on his way back, and they’d ambled over, Bad buying two styrofoam cups of hot chocolate and handing one to his best friend. Dream is followed closely by Sapnap, who looks very, very close to stabbing the blond teenager. Tommy’s having a conversation with George, and Bad can see a bag clutched in his hand like it’s precious.

“Who do you think Tommy got?” Bad asks Skeppy, just to see how he’d react. Skeppy flounders for a moment, looking at him blankly, before saying that hey, it’s a Secret Santa, what’s the point of guessing? It’s funny and sweet how bad he is at lying when he isn’t secretly topping up Bad’s credit cards. Bad stifles a giggle. 

Bad first realises something is wrong with Tommy when the boy slinks to the back and drops the bag he’d been holding carefully to the side. His hands twist knots in his hoodie nervously, and Bad’s interrupted in standing up and talking to him by Dream clearing his throat. 

The Secret Santa goes in a circle, starting with Wilbur, who’d gotten a gift for Dream. Dream has a gift for Niki, who has a gift for Ant, who has a gift for Techno, so on and so forth. Everyone watches, intrigued, and the gifts are passed around and poked at. Someone buys a fidget toy that Techno and Tommy get distracted by for a full ten minutes.

Tommy receives a gift from Sapnap, who’d gotten him- surprisingly, not Minecraft related- a set of kazoos. There were- a lot of them. Bad didn’t need to know how many kazoos could be bought in fifteen bucks, but it’s information he stores away for later. Tommy’s absolutely delighted, Bad can tell, but his face seems to fall when he realises he has to give his own present. Bad can pinpoint the moment of realisation.

“Can- can I give mine at the end?” Tommy asks, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. Dream frowns. 

“I mean- if you want to? But it’d be best to give it now,” he says. The corners of Tommy’s mouth tilt down. 

“Here,” he says, standing up and moving towards Bad. “Reindeer.”

It’s… a cookie. It’s a reindeer cookie. Which is fine, but Bad had seen that bag, earlier, and how nervous Tommy’d been earlier. The room echoes with a groan. “Oh come on now, Tommy!” Dream exclaims somewhere behind him.

“Where’s the actual gift?” George asks, mouth full of crisps. People look at him. “I saw- you had like, a book or something in your bag.”

“That’s- that’s literally cheating, GeorgeNotFound,” Tommy says. He’s still frowning- more like pouting, now, and Bad can see his bottom lip trembling very slightly. “It was a stupid gift.”

“It’s here,” Techno calls, and Dream catches the bag that’s thrown towards him easily and hands it to Tommy, who blushes. 

“It’s a bad gift,” Tommy mumbles, but relinquishes it without much of a fight. Bad leans over to him. 

“Do you not want me to open it?” he asks, because the last thing he wants to do is make the kid uncomfortable. Tommy shakes his head and makes a ‘go ahead’ motion. Bad slides the gift out of the bag.

It’s a sturdy, thin spiral notebook, bursting with images. Bad’s heart immediately melts looking at it. It’s terribly made, covered in layers of tape and covered in childish handwriting, but it’s genuinely probably the most precious gift he’s ever received. He flips through it, slowly, a crowd gathering behind him and chorusing a near-constant  _ aww. _

“Tommy, I love this,” Bad says, staring at the images. Some of these he recognises as Skeppy taking pictures of him, but mostly they’re from Tommy’s point of view, capturing absent little moments in a very gremlin-esque fashion. It’s wonderful, actually, because Bad doesn’t really have many pictures with his friends; he’s usually the one taking them. “This is wonderful.”

“Really?” Tommy asks, hair falling into his eyes. “Because like- everyone else got like… cool stuff that you can use. And I just glued a bunch of pictures onto a book.”

The room erupts with many, many reassuring voices, and Bad laughs as the youngest’s eyes widen. He pats the seat next to him and Tommy scrambles over. “This is great, Tommy. The more effort you put into something the more valuable it it. This is probably the best gift I’ve  _ ever _ gotten, really.”

Tommy blinks at him. His lip has stopped wobbling, but his lower lip is bruised from him biting on it. “That’s weird,” he says. “Do you like the last page?”

“I haven’t seen the last page, hold on,” Bad says, carefully closing the book and turning it over. He opens the last page. The pop-up slowly rises.

Bad doesn’t mind the explosion of laughter, or even the massive FUCK scrawled over the semi-circle of paper, or the way Skeppy physically doubles over or Dream wheezes in his ear. Tommy laughs at Bad’s expression, a stark difference from the near-crying child he’d been not ten minutes ago, and he doesn't mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6 am . hjhghjhgj


	14. Day 14: Christmas Cracker

Christmas hasn’t been Tommy’s favorite holiday _ever,_ which is evident in the sheer amount of panic attacks and near misses he’s had in the past few weeks. He’s definitely enjoying it a lot more, though, probably because he wasn’t being fucking abused like he had in the past.

The abuse is over. Tommy knows this with a wavering certainty. The abuse is over and will be for the foreseeable future, as Phil and Wilbur and Techno have reassured him many, many times. He’s safe here, with his family, with his dad and two older siblings and a massive extended family and so many friends. He’s here for as long as he wants.

Which is why he hates, hates, _hates_ being so easily upset these days. He’s having the time of his fucking life. He’s happy and loved and safe, even if he doesn’t think so sometimes. He’s with family. He’s okay. 

Yet- despite this, despite this tight sense of security and safety, he’s so fucking easily startled. He’ll hide behind doors if someone passes by a room he’s in, chest heaving with panicked breaths. He’ll jump when someone yells. He’ll flinch away when people approach him too fast. And while he can stand the constant paranoia- it’s something he’s lived with for a really long fucking time- it’s definitely making it a lot harder to feel festive. 

The- the stupid freak-outs he’d had in the past few days, panicking over the smallest things- things like wreaths, for fuck's sake, and and giving gifts that felt worthless and s _now_ \- they were really fucking annoying, because Tommy was okay for once in his life and yet he got scared so fucking easily. Maybe he just wanted to feel okay, for once. That would be nice. 

His point is proven once again, because of course it is. They’re at home, just him and Wilbur- Phil’s gone out and Techno’s out with him. The house is relatively quiet; Wilbur’s claimed the lounge as his own and is splayed out over multiple sofas, finishing writing some music. Tommy’s been restlessly wandering around the house. He’d been playing Minecraft with Tubbo earlier, on Dream’s server. Tubbo’d had to leave, and it was lonely playing by himself, and Bedwars wasn’t half as fun without Techno, so he’s just- wandering around, now. Looking. Poking.

There’s nothing really interesting that he hasn’t seen before. There’s a steadily growing pile of presents that no one’s allowed to touch unless they’re adding to it, and a pile of unhung decorations by the fireplace. Wilbur’s music is playing out loud, and Tommy listens to it absently while moving over to the kitchen- it’s some weird alternative music that isn’t particularly Tommy’s thing, but he hums along anyway. 

There’s a pile of shiny shit on the counter, and Tommy starts to shift through it. Lots of tinsel. Several crackers. A few pieces of candy that Tommy snags and slips into his pocket, resisting the urge to glance around warily. He wraps his hand around two crackers and makes his way to Wilbur.

“Wilbur,” Tommy groans, throwing himself onto his oldest sibling, who shields his laptop and wraps an arm around his waist. “Wil, I’m bored.”

“Tommy,” Wilbur whines in a tone very similar to Tommy’s in a way that definitely calls him out. “Tommy, I’m working.”

“You aren’t working,” Tommy says, dragging out the last word. “Entertain me. I found crackers. I’ve never used them.”

“You haven’t?” Wilbur asks. “They’re plenty loud, I should warn you.”

“They can’t be that loud,” Tommy says dismissively. “Besides- I mean- it’s Christmas. Surely God or life or whatever isn’t that cruel?” His face twists, and he fights to keep it smooth. Life is that cruel. He's just hoping it wouldn't be this one time.

“If you’re sure,” Wilbur says, pushing his laptop to the side and pulling Tommy to his side like he’s a doll. “You’re supposed to pull the end.” Tommy doesn’t miss the note of worry in his voice. 

Tommy pulls it. It explodes with a loud bang, and Tommy’s world blacks out in shock for a moment. He stares, blankly, at the cracker in his hand. It’s expelled a little cloud of paper confetti, a paper crown and a little note. All Tommy can comprehend is the noise it made. His surroundings have gone quiet.

Someone squeezes his side, a warm presence on his right. Tommy flinches back and blinks, slowly, as the his ears slowly let other noises back in and the black phases from his vision. He thinks he might’ve proper passed out if Wilbur hadn’t just- just squeezed him.

The remains of the cracker slip from his hands. Tommy pulls his knees up to his chest and rubs his eyes with a shaky hand. Wilbur’s in the corner of his eye, face pinched in concern, and his low, comforting words slowly make their way into Tommy’s mind. 

He _hates_ this. It was a fucking cracker. It was just a cracker that he’d pulled voluntarily, fully knowing it was going to be loud. It was a cracker that he’d known was going to be loud and had been warned about. And yet- here he was. Here he fucking was, on the brink of a panic attack.

“I’m- I’m so fucking sorry,” Tommy blurts, once the lump in his throat has died down. “I’m sorry that- that I can’t be normal. W-Why can’t I be fucking okay?”

Wilbur’d pulled away, slightly, when Tommy’d flinched, but he approaches again cautiously, Tommy deliberately _does not flinch_ , and Wilbur wraps him up in a hug that he accepts gratefully, heaving shuddering breaths. “Why am I _like_ this?”

“It’s okay,” Wilbur mumbles into his hair. Tommy hiccups. He hasn’t cried yet, and hopefully it stays like that. “There’s nothing wrong with you, okay? This isn’t your fault.”

“Why am I _so_ fucked up?” Tommy asks again, voice rising. “Why am I like this, Wilbur?” 

“It’s not your fault,” Wilbur whispers. Tommy feels his hair slowly get wet. Why- why is Wilbur crying? Had he finally realised that they’d brought the wrong kid home- someone else deserved this, this loving family and this massive house- not someone who couldn’t pop a cracker without almost crying. Not someone who was so fucking damaged. “It’s not your fault, Tommy, this isn’t on you. You aren’t fucked up.”

“I can’t pull a fucking Christmas cracker!” Tommy snaps loudly, voice cracking halfway. “You- you deserve better, you all deserve better!”

“Techno’s the same way, Tommy!” Wilbur exclaims. “Techno is- I am- hell, Phil is too- why do you think he’s so intent on adopting us and giving us homes, Tommy?”

“I don’t kno-ow,” Tommy whispers in an embarrassing whine. “I- I don’t _understand_.”

“You don’t have to understand,” Wilbur murmurs to him, voice hoarse. “You just- you aren’t fucked up, Tommy.” He wipes his eyes from where his chin is in Tommy’s hair. “This doesn’t make you- it doesn’t make you bad. You aren’t broken.”

Tommy’s voice refuses to work- not to deny, not to accept, not to make excuses or to crack a joke or do _anything_ \- but Wilbur’s right here, arms wrapped around him securely, holding him like his life depends on it. There’s nothing Tommy _can_ do other than lean into him and let the tears flow. It’s- it’s fucking hard to grasp. He can’t accept that he’s not broken- he’s the one who’ll break down at almost anything, he’s never seen Wilbur or Techno or Phil break down in front of him- or maybe he has- and maybe they're all fucking stronger than him. That's okay, for now, at least. They'll deal with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 am !! earlier than usual pog  
> moonie is now my official older sibling and is listening to me type this . like . amooniesong. the . the person who wrote bigbrotherinnit. the clout god. the big trilogy writer. they're listening to me. how did i get here  
> hey. everyone readnig this. are you enjoying  
> i am going to bed early !!! at 3 am !!!!!  
> can you tell how incoherent i am  
> if you saw that i forgot to finish this. you didnt


	15. Day 15: Mulled Wine

There’s a soft flurry of snow outside as Wilbur, Tommy and Schlatt make their way through the shopping complex, Wilbur’s hands laden with bags. Tommy’s holding one single bag- another gift to add to the growing pile next to the tree. 

Schlatt’s just along for the ride, honestly, because he’d been with Wilbur when the man’d decided he was going to go buy shit- he needed new shoes, and no one was opposed to more gifts. Schlatt was also fully aware of Tommy’s idolisation of him- and the fact that the boy hadn’t known they were cousins until the party a few days ago- and he was trying to spend more time with the boy because Wilbur’d probably strangle him otherwise. He was also surprisingly funny.

“How much longer are we gonna be here?” Tommy groans, dragging his feet along the polished floor. He grabs onto Wilbur’s arm and digs his shoes into the ground, allowing himself to slide along. Schlatt watches with amusement as Wilbur’s facial expression doesn’t change in the slightest, continuing to uphold a conversation with a child clinging onto him.

“Like- an hour,” the man says, grinning when Tommy lets out a whine. “It’s not that long, Tommy. I need to get a coat and shit.”

“It  _ is  _ that long,” Tommy complains. “You haven’t even fed me. You said you’d feed me.”

“I say a lot of things, Tommy,” Wilbur says, pulling his elbow forwards and sliding Tommy in front of him, before catching the boy by the shoulders and pushing him along like a shopping cart. “What’s something ominous Techno’d say here?”

Schlatt frowns. “Czechoslovakia and Hitler?”

“No, something Greek, probably,” Wilbur says contemplatively. “Achilles. Icarus. Theseus. Hercules?”

“It’s Heracles,” Schlatt corrects. “He’d strangle you for getting it wrong.” He reaches over to grab the twelve-year-old’s hands, who complies with wide eyes as he slides over to the teenager. “Little man. Thoughts on going to buy a snack.”

“I  _ am _ starving,” Tommy says, tightening his grip on Schlatt’s hands. “What snack?”

“Whatever you want, as long as it’s not too expensive,” the teenager says. “I’m broke.”

“I have some money,” Tommy and Wilbur offer simultaneously. Schlatt waves them away.

“I’m joking,” Schlatt says, stopping. Tommy trips and Schlatt helps him right himself with a hand. “Wilbur, food court?” 

Wilbur sighs. “Sure,” he says. “But you’re buying me food.”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Schlatt purrs, grinning at Wilbur, who laughs. 

“No, stop, we aren’t making homoerotic jokes in front of the child,” he says. Tommy crinkles his nose.

“I’m not a child,” he says. “And- just like, a refresher, I know what it means, what’s homoerotic?”

“Oh Jesus fuck- I take that back,” Schlatt says as Wilbur starts to full on belly laugh. “Backing away from that subject. Food.”

“Y-Yeah,” Wilbur says, chuckling. “Mulled wine, Schlatt?”

Schlatt’s face tightens. “I’ll pass,” he says. “Not much of an alcohol guy. I prefer hard crack.”

“When’s the last time you did hard crack?” Wilbur asks politely. Schlatt coughs, a laugh lying underneath. 

“None of your fuckin’ business,” he says. “But yeah- I’ll go for hot chocolate. Tommy?”

“Hot chocolate too, I think,” Tommy says. His hand is still in Schlatt’s. Schlatt can see his pleased flush, and the way he looks at their hands nervously. He can see why people got attached to the kid so easily. “And- and a pastry.”

“Demanding! Good!” Schlatt says. “Sure, I’ll get you a pastry. Anything else, little man? Wilbur?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Wilbur says. “See you in a minute. I’ll get my drink, you two get yours.”

“Sure,” Schlatt says, and then he’s in charge of a child. 

It’s surprisingly easy, actually. Tommy seems more hyperactive today than Schlatt’s ever seen, even though he’s calmed down by a lot, so Schlatt just makes sure to interact with him and offer him whatever he can possibly buy. Tommy rejects all his offers politely- other than the croissant that Schlatt buys with force- and they make it to the hot chocolate stall, Tommy nibbling on the edge of the pastry.

He buys two cups of the warm drink- it’s the texture of paint, it’s so fucking thick- and returns to Tommy slipping away the direction Schlatt’s just come from. “Tommy!” he calls. “Tommy, I’m not getting into legal trouble today, I have an accounting exam in January.” He starts for the stall before Tommy runs back with another cup, skidding to a stop and somehow not spilling any of the hot chocolate.

“No legal trouble here,” Tommy says, breathing heavily. “Let’s go.”

“Why another?” Schlatt asks. “I have two.”

“For Wilbur,” Tommy says. His face scrunches up- similar to the way Schlatt’s had tightened, earlier. His voice drops. Schlatt ducks lower to hear him. “I don’t like alcohol very much, either.”

Weirdly perceptive kid, huh. Schlatt straightens and ruffles his hair. “You could have just told him,” he says. “He’s oblivious about some things, but he would stop.”

“I know,” Tommy says, smiling slightly. “I- y’know.”

“I don’t, actually,” Schlatt says, but he returns the smile. “C’mon, then. Wilbur’ll be waiting.”

Tommy follows him like a duckling, chattering his ear off the entire time. He’s still weirdly endearing and makes Schlatt laugh out loud several times. He tenses slightly when he sees Wilbur, but the two older boys exchange looks and Schlatt flickers his eyes towards a dustbin meaningfully. Wilbur chucks the entire cup of mulled wine into the bin, and Tommy’s eyes light up as he accepts the hot chocolate. He’s- he seems like a good kid. Schlatt makes a point to hang out with him more often.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha.. not me missing even more in favor of sleep, posting legion (the best fic i have ever written and will ever write), the writer’s block secret santa and a psychological horror i will never finish..... ahaha.....


	16. Day 16: Wrapping Paper

“You’re shit at wrapping,” Tommy says over Techno’s shoulder from where the teenager is hunched over a gift. Techno’s completely given up on wrapping the gift neatly. It’s covered in an obscene amount of tape. “I don’t think you need that much tape.”

“I’ll add however much tape I want,” Techno deadpans, reaching over his shoulder and tugging Tommy down, the boy tripping over his shoulder and dropping down next to him. “What, can you do better than me?”

“Much,” Tommy says, watching as Techno reaches for the tape dispenser, struggling to rip a piece from it. “Should I help?”

“No, no- I got it,” Techno says, pulling the entire roll from the dispenser and started to loop it around the present. Tommy stares in disbelief. 

“That’s horrifying,” he says. “That is so incredibly gross of you.”

“I mean- it’s wrapped, isn’t it?” Techno asks, continuing to loop it. The tape screeches as he tugs. “It’s definitely- sealed. No one’s gonna be able to get into it until it’s Christmas.”

“Yeah, cause they’ll need a fuckin’ chainsaw.” Tommy reaches over to the pile of presents by the tree. Half of them are unwrapped presents that’ll need wrapping before being given out. The other half is just for their family. He grabs a little figurine he’d gotten for Tubbo. “Watch me.”

“What, are you better?” Techno asks drily, ripping the tape with his teeth untidily, eyes focusing on Tommy’s hands. He pats down his gift, which is essentially a massive ball of plastic. Tommy feels a surge of sympathy for whoever’s receiving that. 

“I am,” Tommy says. “You’re absolutely terrible.” He lays the box down on the wrapping paper he’s rolled out from under the couch. It’s blue and dotted with bees. Probably more appropriate for a birthday- shit, he’d use it for Tubbo’s birthday as well. 

He slices it, neatly, eying it and gliding his scissors through the paper with a satisfying noise. Techno puts his gift in his lap, bending over it with a sharpie. “You’re not even watching, shitass.”

“I am,” Techno says, biting the pen between his teeth and capping it. “Don’t say shitass.”

“I say what I want,” Tommy says. “Look.”

He shoves the clear tape back into the dispenser and rips off several pieces with a surprising amount of dignity. Techno watches, intrigued, as he carefully folds the wrapping paper and creases it with his nail, struggling as it sinks into the carpet. Tommy’s surprisingly good at folding it in neatly and taping it. Without any excess tape. They both ignore the monstrosity Techno’s tossed to the side. 

“Boom,” Tommy says, hands hovering over a neatly packaged gift. “Have some dignity, Techno, yours is horrid.”

“It looks fucking great,” Techno says. “Look at your own.”

Tommy does. It looks wonderful. He leans over to the small pile of stickers and ribbons and smacks a star shaped ribbon onto the box, pressing it down with a hand. “It looks great- compared to yours, at least.”

Techno rolls his eyes, passing the child a sharpie as he sticks on a little greeting card. Tommy bends over his present neatly, tongue sticking out as he writes a note in a delicate, untidy script. It’s adorable- and similar to the collection of pictures that Wilbur’s been inadvertently gathering- so Techno snaps one as well. 

“Done,” Tommy says, pushing the gift off the carpet and sliding it across the hardwood. “There’s one of Tubbo’s. I have more.”

“You got a lotta gifts,” Techno observes. “How’d you know how to wrap them?”

Tommy shrugs, leaning over and grabbing another gift by the tips of his fingers. His pajama shirt rubs against the floor. “Practice, I guess,” Tommy says. “I used to wrap them with- my original family, before.” He pauses. “Then in the orphanages I liked to give people all the gifts I could get. They were usually from the dollar store, but I think people liked it. And wrapping paper was cheap and made them a lot better.”

Techno smiles at him as Tommy talks. He’s genuinely such a kind kid- odd, considering his loud, harsh demeanor. “That’s cool of you,” Techno says, genuinely, laughing when Tommy blushes. “No, really. That’s real nice of you.”

“Just wanted to make things a little nicer,” Tommy says. “It sucked a little less then.”

“Hope it isn’t sucking this year?” Techno asks, leaning over to brush his shoulder against Tommy. Tommy grins at him. 

“Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okayokayokay i KNOW i haven't updated in a bit But. in my defense. my mental health has been absolute ASS. but i am still kicking!!! and will probably update more soon maybe!!!!!  
> also SORRY this is short :(


	17. Day 17: Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's not like i'm late or something... haha...  
> L thank you for helping me i would die for you ly <3
> 
> ALSO THIS IS COMPLETELY PLATONIC FUCK YOU IF YOU TAKE IT ANY OTHER WAY

Homistletoe. What a terrible, terrible idea.

Dream had been the one who’d bought it up- homistletoe was like- like mistletoe, but better in every way because no one had to make out unless they _wanted_ to. He’d hung mistletoe all around his own house- hell knows how much Drista’s complained about that, Dream had talked about him catching her in doorways and pecking her on the forehead too often for her _not_ to be severely pissed. The teenager was now spreading the propaganda to everyone he knew in the neighborhood- which was a lot of people.

"That's a great idea," Wilbur says, grinning at Dream from where the seventeen-year-old is lounging on the couch, a cookie he'd gotten from Niki in hand and the other three he'd gotten in Tommy and Wilbur's hands. Techno's cookie was in an incredibly precarious place- which was, of course, right by Tommy's mouth. Dream shoots him a look, and he lowers it. 

“That is a terrible idea,” Tommy says, blushing. “You can’t just come in here and bribe us with cookies and tell us we have to kiss. That’s incest.”

“That is not incest, Tommy, Jesus,” Wilbur says. “That’s called having a close platonic relationship. Do you not have friends?”

“I absolutely have friends,” Tommy says. “I just don't kiss 'em." 

Wilbur grins at him. "Well, here's your chance," he says. "Dream, you've bribed me."

“Fuck yeah,” Dream says, hoisting himself up. Wilbur stands as well. They have some odd stand-off- Tommy sees Wilbur resisting the urge to salute _for the drama_ \- and Dream leans over and smacks a kiss onto Wilbur’s cheek. 

“There was no mistletoe!” Wilbur says, choking down a laugh as Dream backs away. 

“Once,” Dream calls over his shoulder, pulling on his sneakers by the front door. “Once for good luck.”

Tommy gapes at them. “That felt incredibly sexual.”

“And you- you should _not_ know what that means,” Wilbur says as Dream closes the door, wheezing. “Oh my god, Tommy, not everything is romantic. Although that did feel incredibly sexual. Maybe he mistook me for Gogy- alright, stopping myself there.”

“You’d better,” Tommy grouches.

Wilbur takes the homistletoe agenda hard, hanging the greenery at every doorway possible after checking it over with Tommy- “You good with this?”- “Yeah.”- “Sure?”- “Yup.” Tommy absolutely doesn’t mind the kissing. He knows it’s all platonic, and it’s in no way abnormal for Wilbur to press a kiss to the side of his head when he’s upset or another to Phil’s cheek when he comes home. It’s just odd to see affection shown so blatantly.

Growing up with the weird, rough childhood he’d had didn’t make affection seem like the greatest thing. His parents never showed any signs of love towards him, no matter how he twisted their actions. Maybe once, beyond Tommy’s memories. It didn’t matter now anyway. 

The orphanages made affection seem like a weakness, because they _were_. Tommy’d been in many, many homes before Phil’s, despite only being in the system for a few years. Some were okay. The others were… rough. It’d made making friends incredibly hard, and getting close enough to be physically affectionate near impossible. And it was okay, now, because Tommy adored it and his family was willing to provide.

Everyone else takes the homistletoe agenda hard as well. The first person he gets caught with is Phil- directly after laughing at Techno’s awkward ramble after getting caught with his oldest brother, who’d pecked the top of his head. Phil laughs at his betrayed expression.

“You can back out whenever,” he says. Tommy frowns. 

“No. Shut up.” He wrestles himself to Phil’s height, grabbing the man by the shoulder and kissing his cheek. “Bitch.”

“Don’t swear,” Phil says, grinning and ruffling his hair. “Tubbo’s coming over?”

“Yep,” Tommy says, ducking under Phil’s arm and grinning back at him. “We’re going to the arcade after.”

“Cool,” Phil says. “You have money?” Techno passes by the doorway, pressing a kiss to his father’s cheek before he’s prompted and jogging up the stairs.

“Got money!” Tommy calls, turning and following his brother. 

He passes the time until Tubbo arrives fiddling with things around his room, alternating between trying to tidy and just inspecting useless trinkets he’d forgotten he had. Finally, the doorbell rings, and Tommy races down as Wilbur answers it.

He meets Tubbo in the hallway, the boy navigating their house smoothly as though it was his own. And- no matter how often it happens, Tommy doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to Tubbo greeting him with a hug. It’s— nice. _So_ nice, yet he can’t help the awkward laugh that escapes him when his best friend wraps himself around Tommy’s middle.

“Tubbo!” he exclaims, wrapping his arms around Tubbo’s neck. “My bitch!”

“I am in _no_ way your bitch,” Tubbo grumbles, detangling himself from the hug once it starts to get uncomfortably warm. That’s the downside of hugs, Tommy decides. You couldn’t hug for hours, so what was the point? “We’re going to the arcade, right?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Wait- first I gotta show you something on my PC, c’mon.”

Phil’d had an old PC kept away that wasn’t in use, and he’d given it to Tommy, who’d accepted with wide eyes and a grateful grin. At the time, it’d seemed like some temporary luxury that’d eventually be taken away, and he’d avoided downloading or changing anything. Now, though, it was completely his, with a frankly terrifying image of him and Tubbo as his background to match.

Niki lets out a shrieking laugh as Tommy tugs Tubbo towards the staircase by his sleeve. Tommy pauses. Wilbur follows up with a laugh of his own.

“Oh Jesus,” Tommy groans, slowly turning. 

“What?” Tubbo asks, turning to look at Wilbur and Niki in confusion. The oldest points up. Tommy lets out another groan.

“Oh! Homistletoe!” Tubbo says. “Right? Cause Dream got us to put some up as well, and I’m _not_ kissing you on the mouth.”

Tommy draws out another long groan, face flushing red. “Dream’s a bitch.”

“Dream’s a sentimental bitch,” Tubbo counters. “What, do you not want a kiss?”

“No, no- it’s okay,” Tommy grumbles. Tubbo leans down slightly, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s cheek. The younger boy’s flush darkens, somehow, but everyone can see a pleased smile pulling at his mouth. “I can’t believe you, asshole.”

“Hey, you’re short, okay?” Tubbo says defensively, somehow understanding what Tommy’s talking about. “I have to bend down.”

“Fucking liar,” Tommy says, and tugs on Tubbo’s sweater again. He’s _not_ still blushing. Tubbo obliges with a grin. “Look at me. I’m gonna fuckin’ tower over you soon, just you wait.”

“Sure, Tommy,” Tubbo says, allowing himself to be dragged up the stairs. Tommy masterfully lets go of his sleeve when they pass another doorway and catches it again. “Sure.”

He makes Tubbo regret it. He’s not very pleased with the background. Tommy’ll hold it above his head- metaphorically, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we. we writing more? maybe? Oh Boy I Am Still Struggling But We Dealing We Dealing  
> also my fic my short tommy . he does have a growth spurt but for now he is small


	18. Day 18: Carolling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how are you enjoying getting christmas notifications in january?

“Honestly, if you get sick right now I’m blaming Techno entirely,” Wilbur says, pulling Tommy closer to his side when the boy shudders. “He was supposed to get here ten minutes ago.”

“That fucking bitch,” Tommy grumbles, tucking his hands into his sides awkwardly. “Wilbur, sincerely, I am so fucking cold.”

He is. Tommy’s in no way built for cold weather, being lanky and skinny for someone who’s twelve years old, and no matter how many layers he wears he’s still absolutely fucking freezing.

He shudders again, pressing himself into Wilbur’s side. It isn’t snowing yet, but the air is brittle and bites at his nose and ears painfully. They’re sat at a bench at the side of the road, watching cars pass by as they wait for Techno to arrive. 

“You look homeless,” Wilbur says. Tommy glares at him. His nose is bright red. 

“I feel homeless,” the boy grumbles. “Wil- I’m freezing, asshole, it’s like that time this kid from one of the homes locked me out and I kicked him in the nuts."

Wilbur's arm tightens around him. "Good on you."

"And then I got sent away."

"Less good!" His older brother sighs, breath forming a cloud of white in the air. "That's... pretty bad, actually."

"Innit?" Tommy makes some vague amused sound, elbowing Wilbur's side in an attempt to get closer.

"Oh, Tommy," Wilbur says. "C'mere. You should've worn another jacket."

"Wilbur, you madman, have you seen how many fucking layers I'm wearing already?" Tommy asks, allowing Wilbur to pull away from him. The man pulls his long, brown jacket open with some effort, pulling Tommy into it and wrapping it around his side. Tommy presses into the warmth. 

“You’re so _skinny,”_ Wilbur says. “You’ve fucking ruptured my spleen with your elbow.”

“You love it,” Tommy grumbles. “Oh fuck, it’s snowing, innit?”

Indeed, soft flakes of ice have started falling around them, mingling with the leftover snow from earlier that’s still coating everything around them. “It is snowing,” Wilbur confirms, pulling out his phone. Tommy’s cheek mushes against his chest. “If Techno doesn’t pick up we’re going without him.”

“That’s what I’ve been fucking saying,” Tommy says. His voice is only a little muffled. He pulls up one of his legs, determinedly ignoring how he actually _does_ look pretty homeless. “Y’know what, let’s just go now, it’s not like he’s gonna pick up-”

A gloved hand claps over his mouth. “Hi, Tech,” Wilbur says. “We’ve been waiting for you, asshole.” A pause. “Five minutes. Then we’re leaving.”

“Give me the fucking phone,” Tommy hisses, batting at Wilbur’s hands and grabbing his phone with his own gloved hands. “Techno, you asshole, I’m freezing to death here, if I get amputated I’m gonna fucking blame you-” The phone beeps. He lowers it, staring at it in disappointment. “He closed it.”

“Of course he did, you gremlin,” Wilbur says. “Come back here.” He tucks Tommy back into his side. Tommy complies. “You _are_ pretty loud when you’re cussing someone out. Probably blew out his eardrums.”

“He deserves it.” Tommy says. 

His sneakers are darkening from the snow they’re surrounded in. They’re sitting by a storefront; it’s a bakery, but one of those smaller, cozy ones, filled with people flooding in and out and covered head to toe in surprisingly tasteful decorations. The aroma of bread and cookies and gingerbread is almost overwhelming. The twinkling of lights is blinding, and Tommy closes his eyes, ignoring the frost that builds up on his eyelashes. 

Wilbur’s warm against him; Tommy’s tucked into his yellow turtleneck. It rubs against his cheek comfortingly; Wilbur’s acting like a pretty good space heater. The sound of people carolling across the street barely reaches his ears over the screech of cars passing by and the woolen interior of Wilbur’s leather coat. 

“Getting a nap in?” Wilbur’s voice asks, muffled. Tommy shakes his head, hands coming up to fist absently at Wilbur’s sweater. The man hums, hand carding through his hair. “Sure.”

It’s freezing, sure, but Tommy’s pretty sure he dozes off, snowflakes pattering against Wilbur’s jacket; he blinks awake at the sound of muffled conversation above him.

“Took you long enough,” Wilbur says. Tommy feels himself be jostled, slightly, and pulled to the right as someone sits next to him on the bench.

“Not _that_ long,” Techno drawls. “Tommy’s asleep?”

Tommy _wants_ to shake his head, okay, or mumble out a “no.” But he’s exhausted, and Wilbur’s warm and he really doesn’t wanna walk, so he doesn’t move. “He’s asleep,” Wilbur says. “You should carry him since you took so fucking long.”

“Nose goes.”

“ _Fuck,”_ Wilbur says empathically. Tommy’s scooped up embarrassingly easily. To be fair, Wilbur’s a fucking giant compared to him. “And you say you aren’t British.”

“I never said that,” Techno says. “C’mon.”

Wilbur stands. Tommy buries his face into his shoulder. Techno pokes at Tommy’s blond hair from where it’s barely visible. “Hi, Tommy.”

“Hey,” Tommy mumbles sleepily. “Home?”

“Yeah,” Techno replies. Wilbur laughs. Tommy can feel the vibrations of it against his chest. “Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for STILL reading this even thought it's january!! i'm definitely going to finish this, even though i do have tests coming up. oops


	19. Day 19: Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyone who's subscribed: please resign yourself to having christmas notifs for A Long Time <3

Tommy gets sick.

Honestly, it’s no surprise. He’s been going out  _ constantly, _ out with friends, out with Wilbur, out… in the cold waiting for him to arrive. Hey. Techno isn’t blaming himself for something that isn’t his fault.

There is a sliver of guilt, though, if he’s being honest. It’s probably a  _ little _ bit his fault that Tommy’s refusing to get out of bed, pale and clammy. And the little sliver of guilt grows a little when Tommy flinches when Phil reaches for his face. And then Phil’s face falls as he pulls away, and Techno gives in.

“Will and I’ll take care of him,” he says. “He has a fever, right?”

“I think so,” Phil says.

“I’m okay,” Tommy mumbles. He has his arms crossed over his eyes staunchly. Phil rubs his eyes. 

“I’ll come home early,” he says. “Bring soup and everything.”

“Of all days for you to have to go out,” Wilbur says, but it’s affectionate. “Shoo. You’re gonna be late.”

Phil frowns. “But-”

“Shush. We can take care of a child," Wilbur says. Phil stands, and Techno moves to take his place. "You'll only be gone for a couple hours, anyway. I know what meds he needs."

Phil sighs. "I hate to leave," he says. "You know when it's serious?"

"Of course," the oldest son says. "I'm twenty, Dad."

"I know," Phil says, and lets out a quiet laugh. "Feels like you're still the kid I adopted sometimes."

"Aw, old man," Wilbur says. He tugs on Phil's arm. "Tech, take his temperature?"

Techno hums, eyes watching his father and older brother leave the room. "Close the light," he calls.

The room’s doused in darkness, and Techno shifts so he’s properly on the bed. “Tommy,” he says.

Tommy replies with a muffled sound. It’s dark, but there’s enough light coming through the curtains for Techno to easily make out his little brother curling up in bed. “Tommy, it’s Techno.”

Another muffled sound. Tommy moves slightly so his mouth isn’t obstructed. His mouth opens. Nothing comes out. He clears his throat. “C-Can I stay in bed?” he asks. His voice is hoarse. He sounds weirdly like he’s expecting Techno to say no.

“Of course,” Techno says. “I’m not letting you  _ out _ of bed.” 

“Oh,” Tommy says. He removes both his arms from his head, attempting to push himself up on his elbows. They shake. He falls back onto the bed. “I- I don’t hav’to… get up?”

“No,” Techno says, turning on the thermometer and moving for Tommy slowly. “Put this under your tongue.”

Tommy stares at it for a minute, obviously thinking. Techno lets him. 

“Thermo’ter?” he asks, slurring. He looks half asleep. 

“Thermometer, yes,” Techno confirms. “Under your tongue.”

Tommy complies. It’s the most compliant he’s been in a while. Techno pushes him gently onto the bed, throwing his abandoned blanket back over him. He doesn’t resist at all.

He’s asleep by the time the thermometer blinks and Wilbur jogs back up the stairs. His temperature isn’t too high; it’s low enough that they can deal with it relatively easily.

“He flinched,” Techno says to Wilbur. “When Phil reached for him.”

“I noticed,” Wilbur says. “I didn’t want it to distress Dad. That’d why I made him leave so fast.”

“Makes sense,” Techno mumbles, then jolts as Wilbur shoves him, arm digging into the mattress under him. “What the fuck.”

“Get in bed,” Wilbur says. “Stay with him today.”

Techno glares at his older brother. “Sure,” he says. “Why.”

“He’s sick,” Wilbur hisses. “I’ll deal with the ill bit, you make sure he doesn’t freak out.”

Techno considers it, mentally declares it a win and shifts so he’s against Tommy’s headboard, grabbing the sleeping child by the armpits and dragging his head onto his lap. Wilbur observes them for a moment before throwing a blanket over them both and turning on his heel. 

Techno sighs. It’s uncomfortably warm.  _ Tommy’s _ uncomfortably warm, curled up against him. He gives in, pulling out his phone and running a hand through Tommy’s hair. It’s weirdly shiny in a gross way.

Wilbur returns with medicine ten minutes later. Techno’s been suitably distracted playing with Tommy’s hair and switching through the same few social media apps. He shifts, pulling Tommy up higher against himself so Wilbur can coax him into eating the pills; Tommy’s never been one to enjoy swallowing pills in the slightest. Indeed, he chokes on one halfway through, half-lidded eyes widening in shock. Techno rubs his back. Wilbur successfully hides his disgusted face when Tommy coughs the pill up into his hand.

“You’re okay,” their oldest brother says. “Water?”

Tommy nods, grabbing the glass Wilbur’s holding with clammy hands and chugging. He shakes his head after he’s downed half, face scrunched up. “Gross,” he says eloquently.

“Right?” Wilbur says agreeably. “Here- I’ll throw this one, you can eat a new one and go back to sleep.”

Tommy nods, watching Wilbur pop another pill out of the leaf blearily. “For what?” the boy asks.

“Your fever,” Wilbur explains. Techno tugs Tommy’s waist again so he’s up straight when the child grabs the pill and the cup.

“There’s…” Tommy says. “There’s medicine for fevers?”

Wilbur exchanges a look with Techno. “Of course,” he says. “There’s medicine for everything nowadays. C’mon.”

Tommy takes the pills with relative ease one he isn't choking, and Wilbur leaves them with a hand pressed gently to Tommy's forehead and a glare at Techno. He gets it, okay. He isn't supposed to get out of bed.

He shifts again so they're both comfortable; pulling Tommy into the crook of his arm and leaving their legs tangled. He's a bit too exhausted for someone with a fever, all shaking hands and trembling limbs. It's best to let him sleep. Techno stays on his phone, scrolling aimlessly.

Tommy stirs an hours later. He's still uncomfortably warm. "Hi, Techno," he says, voice something so incoherent that Techno's pretty sure he's half asleep.

"Hi, Tommy," Techno says, closing his phone and putting it down next to him. "You good?" 

"I-I," Tommy says. "My... my head hurts. Everything hurts."

"Tommy," Techno sighs, tucking the boy into his side. "You gotta take better care of yourself."

To his horror, Tommy's face immediately crumples. "I'm sorry," the boy says, voice small. "I tried."

Techno blinks. 

"I'm sorry," Tommy repeats, voice rising in pitch. "I'm sorry, please- please don't-"

"It's okay," Techno says, burying the panic in his voice. "Tom- Tommy, it's okay, wh- where are you?"

Tommy twists under Techno's arm. Techno moves hastily, letting Tommy detangle himself. "I- I don't know," his brother says. "I'm sorry."

"Are- are you asleep?" Techno asks, almost incredulously. "Tommy, c'mon- you're okay, you're okay."

“I want- I want Phil,” Tommy says, quiet, arms wrapping around his knees. He seems unnaturally coherent, now, a stark contrast to how he was earlier. Techno finds himself wanting the incoherent, sleepy child back, because Tommy’s fucking sleep talking in the most traumatized fashion possible. “Or Techno. Or Wilbur.”

“I’m right here,” Techno repeats. “You’re sleep talking.”

“I’m not sleep talking!” Tommy snaps. This is familiar. Tommy always vehemently denied doing so when he was half asleep. It was funny, usually, but it was just alarming now. “They- Dad, don’t-”

His hands come up to his hair. Techno scrambles over in some state of horror, opening his phone and speed-dialing Wilbur as he crosses the bed. “Tommy!”

He’s stopped talking, instead curling around himself and rocking back and forth. He’s crying. Techno pauses a foot from him, because what is he supposed to do here? He- he wasn’t supposed to touch someone having a nightmare, right?

The door opens slowly and Wilbur makes his way in, opening the light as he takes in the scene, eyes wide. “Hi,” he says to Techno, far too casually for a conversation where two of the three people are panicking. “Uh. What happened?”

Techno gestures wildly. "What does it look like?" he says. "I don't know what to do."

"Neither do I," Wilbur hisses. Techno resists the urge to back into a corner and cry as well. "Tommy?" 

Tommy doesn't react, slumping into himself. "Did- did he fall asleep?" Techno asks. He pushes himself closer. Wilbur stays at the door. "Tommy."

No reaction. He moves a hesitant hand for Tommy's shoulder. Tommy jumps at the contact, looking up, blue eyes bright and watery. "What- what the fuck," he says, eloquently, before burying his face back into his knees. "Techno."

Techno retracts his hand at the not-positive reaction, fully intending to just- back away until it blew over. Then Tommy grabs it, and he gives into the little brotherly instinct he has and pulls Tommy towards him. The child clings to him desperately. "You're okay," Techno mutters, because he isn't a naturally nurturing person by any means and it's the only sentence he knows that sounds relatively normal.

"I had the worst dream," Tommy mumbles into his chest. Wilbur inches towards them, sitting delicately on the edge of the bed.

"Wanna talk about it?" Techno says, politely, gently bouncing the boy. "You okay?"

"I'm okay," Tommy says. "Uh- uh. It was. My old family. You- you and, uh, Wilbur and Phil were gone and they-" his voice breaks. Techno's heart twists. "They hurt me. Not like they didn't used to. I just- I just forgot how it felt."

"Come here," Techno grumbles, leaning over and pulling the boy into his lap. He holds back any absentminded insults. "You wonderful boy. C'mon."

Tommy buries his face into his shoulder. Wilbur, who's been quiet the entire time, moves closer, wrapping an arm around Tommy's back and pulling the two of them in. "You're okay," he says, but it's much more solid than when Techno had said it; probably comforting for both his younger siblings. "You're okay. Go to sleep, Tommy."

Tommy’s probably asleep by the time Wilbur’s finished his sentence; Techno can hear soft snoring against his shirt. Wilbur doesn’t move, leaning back so both his brothers are against him. He pulls out his phone. Techno closes his eyes.


	20. Day 20: Presents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boys . awful, awful AWFUL week. death, depression, the Whole Shebang. i’ve genuinely never struggled this bad writing anything. just wanted to get this one out so i could write this note- it’ll probably take me.. a While to finish this fic, even though there’s only four chapters left.   
> just consider it some christmas serotonin in the middle of trying times :)

“You sure?” Phil says, hands hovering over Tommy’s biceps. “I don’t want you falling.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Tommy says, rolling his eyes slightly. “What do I look like, some bitch?”

“You’re the one who could barely get up yesterday,” Phil counters. “C’mon. Let’s go down.”

Phil’s right, of course. Tommy’s so stupidly weak right now. His legs tremble like he’s a newborn giraffe, and he wills himself to move towards the door steadily as Phil fawns over him, because the only thing keeping him upright is sheer will. “Fu-ck,” he says when he enters the hallways and catches sight of the stairs.

“You wanna roll down them?” Phil jokes. “Slide down one-by-one?”

It’s a joke, sure, but Tommy looks down at the staircase critically. He- He could probably roll down them. If he tried hard enough. It’s not like he has the energy to… do anything else. “I could,” he says.

“Oh- fuck no,” Phil says behind him, and Tommy feels a hand firmly grasp his shoulder and start to lead him down the stairs. “You’re not sliding.”

Tommy lets out a low, irritated whine. “Why not,” he says, dragging out the  _ not _ . “It’d be easier.”

“And then you’d get a concussion and die,” Phil says, and helps Tommy down the last few steps, allowing him to lean against him. “Living room.”

Tommy keeps walking. Phil steers him to the right into the living room. His two older siblings are there, sprawled out over the couches. Techno’s staring at the Christmas tree. His eyes scan over the twinkling lights absently.

“Hey, Tommy,” Wilbur says. “Not gonna faint or anything, yeah?”

Tommy scoffs. “No,” he says, wiggling out from Phil’s hand and flopping down on the couch. “That didn’t count.”

“Never said it did,” Wilbur replies. “Dad. Is it time?”

“It is,” Phil says. “Come help me.”

Tommy watches as Wilbur pulls himself off the couch, stretching languidly and following Phil to the kitchen. “What’s happening,” he says to Techno, who’s pulled out his phone and looks up at being addressed.

“Tradition,” Techno says. “Give them a minute.”

“I don’t remember hearing about this,” Tommy grumbles. “There’s so much shit.”

“You’re saying that like you don’t enjoy it,” Techno says. Tommy buries his face into the couch and struggles to keep his smile down. He’s pretty sure Techno sees it anyway.

“I never said I did,” he says, voice muffled, before he’s met with the sound of crumpling paper and looks up to a present being dropped carefully into his lap. “It’s not Christmas yet.”

“Pre-Christmas present,” Phil says. Tommy can’t tell if he’s joking. “We usually do it tomorrow or something, but you were sick and it fits.”

Tommy lifts up the box, observing it. It’s wrapped untidily in what he recognises as some of the wrapping paper that’d rolled under the couch. The others have identical ones. “Don’t shake it,” Wilbur says, as he raises it for that exact reason.

“Boo,” he says instead, putting it down sheepishly. “Can I open it?”

“Go ahead,” Phil says. He’s settled himself in the one-seater by the fireplace; Wilbur’s leaning against his legs, cross-legged on the floor.

Tommy tears into it carefully, aware of the eyes that watch him intently. He folds away the wrapping paper neatly, trying to ignore what he’s opened on his lap. It’d felt soft.

“Look at it,” Wilbur says encouragingly. 

Tommy does so. It’s- it’s fabric- wooly, and almost garish. His heart bounces. “Is this-”

“It is,” Techno says, and plucks the wrapping paper from Tommy’s side. “Try it on.”

He tugs at it, watching it unfold. It’s horrifying. Tommy loves it. 

“It’s disgusting,” he says, but his voice cracks halfway. “That’s- that’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

It’s genuinely… gross. The sweater’s bright green and covered in lumps, somewhat trying to resemble a Christmas tree and failing. It’s actually just awful to look at. He loves it more than he’s loved any other piece of clothing. 

“You like it?” Phil asks as Tommy tugs it over his head. It makes his hair stand up with static. “Mum doesn’t like ugly sweaters on Christmas, so we do it a couple days prior.” He sounds almost nervous. Tommy’s not sure why.

“I fucking- I love it,” Tommy says sincerely. “It’s disgusting. On purpose!”

“It’s hideous, right?” Wilbur says, pulling on his own sweater. It’s equally as ugly, but it has the original Microsoft logo on it. It’s surprisingly fitting. “You didn’t open the box.”

There’s a box- right. He’d forgotten about it. Techno nudges it over as he pulls on his sweater, and Tommy fumbles for it and opens it with shaking hands. 

It’s a mug, and Tommy lets out a genuine gasp when he sees it. It’s like diamond ore with a pickaxe as the handle; he snatches it up and pulls it to his chest. The tinsel in his sweater rustles. “Oh my god.”

“I chose that,” Techno says vaguely. 

“It’s  _ amazing,” _ Tommy says, about as genuine as he’s ever gotten, and then, for good measure, “Fuck you.”

It’s a nice fucking mug. Tommy’s only got, like, three Minecraft mugs. He wants more. 

He barely notices Wilbur fawning over his own mug and Techno pretending he’s indifferent to his, because he’s suddenly struck with a swell of fondness so strong it knocks the breath out of him. This is his family. These people mean the world to him, sitting on the couches around him with ugly sweaters and weird-ass mugs. They had taken care of him, yesterday, when he was delirious and sick and miserable; when he’d woken up curled into a pile of his siblings and was met with chicken soup. And now they were doing this little tradition that they’d put on hold for his adoption, and they’d chosen this mug specifically for him- it was overwhelming, almost. 

He’s brought back to reality by Phil plucking the mug out of his hand and moving to the kitchen. Wilbur’s kneeled down in front of the ancient DVR. “We have Mister Bean’s Holiday recorded,” he says. “We’re watching it.”

“We watch it every year,” Techno grumbles. “I’m pretty sure that DVR’s older than Tommy.”

“That’s not fair,” Tommy complains. “I’m the youngest, I should get to choose the movie.” 

“We’ll watch Up tomorrow,” Phil says as he makes his way back to the coffee table, pushing Tommy’s new mug gently into his hands. “Techno, you love this movie, shush.”

“Who said I wanted Up?” Tommy splutters, mock affronted, as Techno shoots Phil a playful glare. Maybe he’s biting back another smile because he  _ had _ wanted to watch Up. Maybe. No one’s business.

Wilbur whacks the old remote as Phil settles in behind him, and Techno leans over to put down his mug and ruffle Tommy’s hair like the bitch he is. Tommy grins as he runs a hand over the coarse material of his new sweater. They’re family, he thinks. It’s so much nicer than what he’d thought family was over a year ago.

  
  



	21. Day 21: Turkey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME IS A SOCIAL CONSTRUCT

"Don't turkeys like- get old?" Tommy asks from where he's settled into the shopping cart, back ordered uncomfortably against the metal. "If you don't cook 'em fast enough?"

"That's what freezers are for," Wilbur says mildly. “You can freeze them for a pretty long time.”

“Gross,” Tommy says, turning his head to peer at the freezers as Wilbur pushes the cart past. “Are those fries?”

“They are,” Wilbur says, and gently pushes the cart towards the freezers. Tommy jostles. “You want some?”

“It’s okay,” Tommy says, but Wilbur can see him eying the pack of crinkle fries. He picks it up and drops it in the cart. “Oh,” Tommy reaches for it and packs it up neatly against the rest of the groceries. They’re surrounding him like a small city around Godzilla. “Thank you.”

Neither of them are particularly in the mood for banter, so Wilbur settles for a “You’re welcome,” as he grabs the cart again and continues towards the drinks. Tommy reaches for the Rubix cube he’d found in Wilbur's car and plays with it absently. His sneakers rub against a box of biscuits. Wilbur leans over to drop a bag of peas into Tommy’s lap. 

“Why do we need turkey anyway?” Tommy asks. “Why not like- a reindeer. Like Santa’s.” He settles the peas against the fries.

“That’d be a little morbid,” Wilbur says, turning into the drinks isle. He can see Tommy shiver. "That's not the Christmas spirit, Toms."

"Okay but like," Tommy says. "People draw turkey for Thanksgiving. Then they eat the turkeys. Can we get Coke?"

Wilbur hums, reaching for the packs of cold drinks and heavily stacking some Coke and Sprite in front of Tommy. "There you go," he says, and grabs a bottle of water for himself. "You want anything?"

"Monster," Tommy drawls, staring at the energy drink. "Not _water_. Old man."

"At least I'm not going to expire by the time I'm thirty," Wilbur says, grinning as Tommy whacks him with the Rubix cube. He drops the can into the cart. Tommy yelps.

"You bitch-ass!" the child says eloquently. "That's gonna fucking explode now, innit?"

"Do Monsters explode?" Wilbur asks, mild. He turns into the main isle; Tommy reaches over to balance a stack of bread. Phil's whole wheat teeters uncomfortably. 

The store's _full_. It's expected, of course, it being only a few days till Christmas. The entire area is packed with shiny tinsel and end-of-year posters and holiday discounts, almost suffocating with the hordes of people. It's… incredibly uncomfortable. Wilbur finds himself far too grateful that Tommy'd decided to reign over the cart without him even asking. He looks uncomfortable from where he's sitting, though, shifting away from the wall of the cart whenever someone gets too close.

"Oh god, meat," Tommy says, looking at where Wilbur's heading. "Gross. Get me outta here."

"What, you don't wanna hold a raw turkey?" Wilbur asks teasingly, but obliges and stops the cart. Tommy hauls himself up unsteadily, and Wilbur locks the cart in place with a knee, allowing the younger boy to clamber out with some difficulty. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Tommy hisses, wrinkling his nose. "Raw meat's so gross, Will."

"You beg me to make you bacon every morning," Wilbur points out. Tommy sticks his tongue out at him.

"That's different," he grumbles. "I'll be like- standing here."

Wilbur hums. "Don't wander off. I'll be a moment."

"Oh man, you're gonna take an hour," Tommy says, but Wilbur can see him preparing himself to wait. He's still fiddling with the Rubix cube. "Be quick."

Wilbur keeps an eye on him as he makes his way to the meat. He despises the meat section, as does Tommy- which is why he always chooses to stay behind. Still, Wilbur's twenty- he's had to go shopping plenty of times, hell, he lives alone most of the time. He can suck it up for Phil.

Still, he's not exactly experienced in buying turkeys, so he lets the man at the counter do most of the work picking out what he assumes is an okay turkey. If he gets scammed- that's on him, okay. It takes ten whole minutes, which isn't exactly fast- and by the time Wilbur turns to place the turkey in the cart Tommy's nowhere to be seen.

"Shit," he says. "Fuck."

It's far too crowded in the store. Wilbur can barely hear his own thoughts- he doubts Tommy would be able to hear him calling. His best bet would probably be to go to security, but…

He looks around, anxiety pulsing in his chest. He'll look around a bit first.

"Tommy!" he calls, steering the cart into the massive isle in the center of the store. If he'd be able to find Tommy anywhere, it'd be there. "Tom!"

He can't _find_ him. There's the occasional shock of blond hair that looks like Tommy's or the bright red jacket, but they only serve to make Wilbur's life harder. He can't find his twelve year old baby brother, and oh _fuck_ he's an awful brother and Phil's gonna be so disappointed and oh god, _Tommy_ -

The panic swelling in his chest feels like it's been amplified by a million, and Wilbur pushes it down somewhat desperately. He's going to find Tommy, and if he can't he'll go to security, and Tommy's going to be perfectly fine. That's it. 

He turns into an isle filled with shampoo and conditioner, eyes frantically scanning over everything they can see. He doesn't know if Tommy'd just- wandered off. Where would he even go? As much as Tommy _did_ like toys and shit, he'd never just… walk away to them without permission. He was too- fragile. Afraid of being punished.

He still can't see Tommy. Then he hears him.

"Let _go_ of me!"

Wilbur's heart fucking hammers out of his chest as he speed-walks towards Tommy's voice, nudging past strangers and narrowly avoiding displays with his cart. His little brother sounds _scared_ , and maybe Wilbur's panicky as hell in public but he's willing to square up with someone.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Tommy- it's unmistakably him- snaps, childish lilt seeping into his words in an oddly contradictory way. "Give it back!"

Wilbur turns another corner to Tommy- his little brother, fucking wrestling with some woman. Well, not actually, but to him it's good enough- her hands are clamped tightly around something Tommy's holding. His Rubix cube. Tommy's eyes dart to him, and his mouth parts in shock. "Will!"

"Get off my brother," Wilbur says lowly, thanking fuck that it isn't crowded where they are, pushing his cart to the side and stalking over. Protectiveness drowns out the anxiety. "Miss, what do you think you're doing?"

"Getting the toy!" She replies, shrill. "He took that from my cart- get your filthy hands off me!"

Wilbur firmly pulls her away from his brother, who stumbles back in something akin to shock. "She's fucking insane," he mumbles, shrugging off his jacket. Rage rears up in Wilbur's chest as he sees red around Tommy's arms, as though someone had pulled him. "She just dragged me around half the store 'cause none of the employees cared about her."

"I'm sorry," Wilbur says sharply. "That belongs to him. And I have a mind to get you fucking arrested."

"When I did nothing wrong?" The woman asks. Wilbur stops himself from raising his fists right then and there. “I want a manager.”

“I do too,” Wilbur says venomously. “And the police. You fucking dragged him! Look at his arms!”

“Boys will be boys,” the woman says dismissively. Wilbur physically hisses. Tommy’s hands wrap around his elbow. 

“Will, can we- can we go?” Tommy asks, tugging at his arm. 

“Give me just a moment,” Wilbur says, voice gentling momentarily. “I want to emotionally destroy her.”

“It’s Christmas,” the woman hisses at him. “My son wants a Rubix cube, and your kid-”

“ _My kid_ did nothing,” Wilbur says coolly. “You, however- there’s a fucking manager. Thank god.”

There’s, indeed, a manager, looking harried and muttering into a walkie-talkie. The woman perks up at the sight of him. Tommy tugs at his arm again. “Wil?”

“I'm sorry, Toms," Wilbur says. "I should have kept a better eye on you." The woman's started shouting. It's making their surroundings even more claustrophobic.

"I'm not a child," Tommy bristles, and physically pulls him. "Please."

He looks flustered, cheeks red and hair tousled. His jacket is back halfway on, and Wilbur twists with guilt at the red marks on his arms.

"You wanna go?" Wilbur asks, voice softening. Tommy nods, looking uncharacteristically nervous, and Wilbur's heart twists as he laces their hands together. 

The plus side of the situation- the woman was a regular nuisance, apparently- was that Wilbur got to check out relatively fast as something of an apology from the manager. It was definitely helpful, because the adrenaline from _have to protect baby brother from this bitch_ had started to wear off. Tommy also looked worn out, lagging behind Wilbur with their hands locked.

"Won't bruise," Tommy mumbles from the backseat as Wilbur loads in the groceries. "Right bitch, she was." 

Wilbur hums in response, pushing the cart into a station and shutting the boot. "Right," he says, sliding into the driver's seat. "Jesus Christ, Toms, I'm losing years off my life."

"You're right, I'm expiring by thirty," Tommy says. The Rubix cube is pulled out of his pocket and thrown into the passenger's seat. "That was annoying."

"Should have gotten her arrested or something," Wilbur says darkly. "That'd show her. Fuckin'- dragging my boy around like a doll?"

Tommy flushes at the _his boy_ in the rearview mirror. "You're not my dad, douchebag."

"But you are my baby brother," Wilbur says. Tommy goes pink again, slinking into his seat.

"Sorry for scaring you," tommy says.

"Should only be sorry you didn't kick her," Wilbur says light-heartedly. "You didn't do anything wrong."

There's a short pause. "You wouldn't have left me there, right?" he asks. "If you hadn't found me?"

"Of course not," Wilbur says, and hopes he sounds reassuring. "You're my little brother. I'll never leave you."

It's quiet as they drive home. Wilbur's more sure of that last statement than he is most things. It's reassuring for them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so  
> your local author of this specific fanfiction had been. uh . Struggling ™ <3 which is why i haven't posted this despite having it near complete for the last few weeks. time is a social construct anyway.  
> i got a new plushie today, and his name is technoround (thank you pebbie qariscool69) and he is a christmas reindeer. on valentine's day. this reminds me of this fic.  
> i have NO clue when i'll post the next chapter

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! these are probably going to be relatively short and sweet :) leave kudos, comments and bookmarks if you wanna, and subscribe if you want notifications!! stay safe <3  
> tumblr: noorahqar  
> my discord, the writer's block (copy paste into a browser):  
> https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm


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